CYRANO   DE   BERGERAC. 


A  PLAY  IN  FIVE  ACTS. 


BY 

EDMOND  ROSTAND. 


TRANSLATED  PROM  THE  FRENCH  BY 

GLADYS  THOMAS  and  MARY  F.  GUILLEMARD. 


NEW  YORK : 
HURST  &  COMPANY, 

PUBLISHERS. 


CYRANO   DE  BERGERAC 


ACT  I. 
A  Representation  at  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne. 

The  hall  at  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne,  in  1640.  A  sort  of 
tennis-court  arranged  and  decorated  for  a  theatric 
cal  performance. 

The  hall  is  oblong  and  seen  obliquely,  so  that  one  of  it* 
sides  forms  the  back  of  the  right  foreground,  and 
meeting  the  left  background  makes  an  angle  witU 
the  stage,  which  is  partly  visible. 

On  both  sides  of  the  stage  are  benches.  The  curtain  i^ 
composed  of  two  tapestries  which  can  be  drawit 
aside.  Above  a  harlequin's  mantle  are  the  royal 
arms.  There  are  broad  steps  from  the  stage  to  the 
hall;  on  either  side  of  these  steps  are  the  places  for 
the  violinists.     Footlights. 

Two  rows,  one  over  the  other,  of  side  galleries:  the 
highest  divided  into  boxes.  No  seats  in  the  pit  of 
the  hall,  which  is  the  real  stage  of  the  theatre;  at 
the  back  of  the  pit,  ^.e.,  on  the  right  foreground^ 
some  benches  forming  steps,  and  underneath,  a' 
•staircase  which  leads  to  the  upper  seats.  An  im- 
provised buffet  ornamented  with  little  lustres, 
vases,  glasses,  plates  of  tarts,  cakes,  bottles,  etc. 

The  entrance  to  the  theatre  is  in  the  center  of  the  back- 


2013SS9 


4  CYRANO  BE  BEUGJSKAU. 

gi-oiind,  under  the  gallery  of  the  boxes.  A  large 
door,  half-open  to  let  in  the  spectators.  On  the 
panels  of  this  door,  in  different  corners,  and  over 
the  buffet,  red  placards  bearing  the  words  "ia 
Clorise.'''' 
At  the  rising  of  the  curtain  the  hall  is  in  semi-darkness, 
and  still  empty.  The  lustres  are  lowered  in  the 
middle  of  the  pit  ready  to  be  lighted. 


SCENE  I. 
The  Public,  arriving  hy  degrees.     Troopers,  BurgHt 
ERS,   Lackeys,  Pages,   a  Pickpocket,   the  Door- 
keeper, e^c, /oZZot/;ecZ  hy  the  Marquises.     Cuigy, 
Brissaille,  the  Buffet-Girl,  the  Violinists,  etc. 

[^A  confusion  of  loud  voices  is  heard  outside  the^door. 
A  Trooper  enters  hastily.'] 

The  Doorkeeper  [/oZZow'm^'/iim].    Halloo!    You  there! 

Your  money! 
The  Trooper.     I  enter  gratis. 
The  Doorkeeper.     Why  ? 
The  Trooper.     Why  ?    I  am  of  the  King's  Household 

Cavalry,  'faith! 
The  Doorkeeper  [to  another  Trooper  who  enters]. 

And  you? 
Second  Trooper.    I  pay  nothing! 
The  Doorkeeper.     How  so  ? 
Second  Trooper.     I  am  a  musketeer. 
First  Trooper  [to  the  second].    The  play  will  not  begin 

till  two.     The  pit  is  empty.     Come,  a  bout  with  the 

foils  to  pass  the  time! 


CriiAJSO  UE  BKliUEHAC.  5 

[lltey  fetice  ivith  the  foils  they  have  brought.^ 

AIjKCYL^y  [entei'ing].     Pst  .  .  .  Flanquin!  .   .  . 

Another  [already  there].     Champagne  ?  .  .  . 

The  First  [showinrj  Jam  cards  and  dice  which  he  takes 

from  his  doublet] .    See,  here   be   cards  and  dice. 

[He  seats  himself  on  the  floor.]     Let's  play. 
The  Second  [doing  the  satne].     Good;  I  am  with  you, 

villain! 
First  Lackey  [taking  from  his  pocket  a  candle-end y 

ivhich  he  lights,  and  sticks  on  the  floor].     I  made 

free  to  provide  myself  with   light  at  my  master's 

expense  I 
A  Guardsman  [to  a  Shop-Girl  who  advances].     'Twas- 

prettily  done  to  come  before  the  lights  were  lit! 

[He  fakes  her  roii^id  the  waist.] 

One  of  the  Fencers  [receiving  a  thrust].     A  hit! 

One  of  the  Card-Players.     Clubs! 

The  Guardsman  [following  the  girl].     A  kiss! 

The  Shop-Girl   [struggling  to  free  herself].     They're 

looking! 
The  Guardsman   [drawing  her  to  a  dark  corner].     No 

fear!     No  one  can  see! 
A  Man   [sitting  on  the  ground  with  others  who  have 

brought   their  provisions].     By  coming  early,  one 
,        can  eat  in  comfort. 

A  Burgher  [conducting  his  son].     Let  us  sit  here,  son. 
A  Card-Player.     Triple  ace! 
A  Man  [taking  a  bottle  from  under  his  cloak,  and  also 

seating  himself  on   the  floor].     A  tipjiler  may  well 

quaff   his  Burgundy  [he  drinks]  in   the  Burgundy 

Hotel! 


S  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAG. 

"The  Burgher  [to  his  son].  'Faith!  A  man  might 
think  he  had  fallen  in  a  bad  house  here!  [He 
points  ivith  his  cane  to  the  drunkard.]  What 
with  topers!  [one  of  the  fencers,  in  hreaJdng  off, 
jostles  him]  brawlers!  [Jie  stumbles  into  the  midst 
of  the  card-players]  gamblers! 

The  Guardsman  [behind  him,  still  teasing  the  Shop- 
girl].    Come,  one  kiss! 

The  Burgher  [hurriedly  pulling  his  son  away].  By 
all  the  holies!  And  this,  my  boy,  is  the  theatre 
where  they  played  Rotrou  erewhile. 

The  Young  Man.     Ay, — and  Corneille! 

A  Troop  of  Pages  [hand-in-hand,  enter  dancing  the 
farandole,  and  singing].  Tra'  a  la,  la,  la,  la,  la, 
la,  la,  lere  ... 

The  Doorkeeper  [sternly,  to  the  Pages].  You  pages 
there,  none  of  your  tricks!  .  .  . 

First  Page  [with  an  air  of  wounded  dignity].  Oh, 
sir! — such  a  suspicion!  .  .  .  [Briskly,  to  the  Sec- 
ond Page,  the  moment  the  Doorkeeper's  back  is 
turned.]     Have  you  string? 

The  Second.     Ay,  and  a  fish-hook  with  it.  ^ 

First  Page.  We  can  angle  for  wigs,  then,  up  there  i' 
th'  gallery. 

A  Pickpocket  [gathering  about  him  some  evil-looking 
youths].  Hark  ye,  young  cut-purses,  lend  an  ear, 
while  I  give  you  your  first  lesson  in  thieving. 

Second  Page  [calling  up  to  others  in  the  top  galleries]. 
You  ther^     Have  you  pea- shooters  ? 

Third  Page  [from  above].  Ay,  have  we,  and  peas 
withal! 


CYUAAO  BE  BEliGERAC.  7 

[He  blows ^  and  peppers  tJiem  with  peas.] 

Tre  Young  Man  [to  his  father].     What  piece  do  they 

give  us? 
The  Burgher.     "Clorise." 
The  Young  Man.     AVho  may  the  author  be  ? 
The     Burgher.      Master    Balthazar    Baro.      It    is    a 

play!  .  .  . 

[He  goes  up  arm-in-arm  irith  Jiis  so7i.] 

The   Pickpocket  [to  his  Pupils].     Have  a  care,  abov©^ 

all,  of  the  lace  knee-ruffles — cut  tliem  off! 
A  Spectator  [to  another,  showing  him  a  corner  in  the 

gallery].     I  was  up   there,  the   first  uight  of  th» 

"Cid." 
The   Pickpocket  [making  with  his  fingers  the  gesture 

of  filching].     Thus  I'or  watches — 
The  Burgher  [coming  dotvn  again  with  his  son].     Ah! 
You  shall  presently  see  some  renowned  actors  .  .  . 
The  Pickpocket  [making  the  gestures  of  one  wJio  pullsr 

something  stealthily,  with   little  jerks].     Thus  for 

handkerchiefs — 
The  Burgher.     Moytfleury  .  .  . 
Some  One   [shouting  from  the  tipper  gallery].     Light 

up,  below  there! 
The  Burgher    .    :     .    Bellerose,  L'Epy,  La  Beaupre, 

Jodelet! 
A"  Page  [in  the  pit].     Here  comes  the  buffet-girl! 
The  Buffet-Girl  [taking  her  place  behind  the  buffet]. 

Oranges,  milk,  raspberry-water,  cedar  bitters!  .  .  . 

[A  hubbub  outside  the  door  is  heard.] 
A  Falsetto  Voice.     Make  place,  brute ->! 


8  CYRANO  DE  B ERG E RAG. 

A    Lackey    [astonished].       The    Marquises!  —  in    the 

pit?  .  .  . 
Another  Lackey.     Ohl    only   for   a  minute  or  two! 

[Efiitei'  a  band  of  young  Marquises.  ] 

A  Marquis  [seeing  that  the  hall  is  half  empty'].  What 
now!  So  we  make  our  entrance  like  a  pack  of 
woolen-drapers!  Peaceably,  without  disturbing 
the  folk,  or  treading  on  their  toes!— Oh,  fie!  fie! 
[Recognizing  some  other  gentlemen  who  have  en- 
tered a  little  before   him.]      Cuigy!     Brissaille!! 

[Greetings  and  embraces]. 

GuiGY.  True  to  our  word!  .  .  .  Troth,  we  are  here 
before  the  candles  are  lit. 

The  Marquis.  Ay,  indeed!  Enough!  I  am  of  an  ill 
humor  .   .  . 

Another.  Nay,  nay.  Marquis!  see,  for  your  consola- 
tion, they  are  coming  to  light  up! 

All  the  Audience  [welcoming  the  entrance  of  the 
lighter].     Ah!  .  .  . 

{They  form  in  groups  round  th^  lustres  as  they  are 
lit.  Some  people  have  taken  their  seats  in. 
the  galleries.  Ligniere,  a  distinguished-looking 
roue.,  with  disordered  shirt- fro7it.,  arm-in-arm 
ivith  Christian  de  Neuvillette.  Christian, 
who  is  dressed  elegantly.,  but  rather  behind  the 
fashion,  seems  preoccupied^  and  keeps  looking 
at  the  boxes.  ] 


CYRANO  BE  BEROERAC.  9 

SCENE  11. 

TJie  Same.     Christian,  Ligniere,  then  Ragueneau  ami 
Le  Bret. 

CuiGY.     Ligniere! 

Brissaile  [laughing^     Not  drunk  as  yet  ? 

Ligniere  [aside,  to  Christian].     I  may  introduce  you  ? 

[Christian  nods  in  asseiit.]     Baron  de  Neuvillette. 

[Boirs.] 
The  Audience  [applauding  as  the  first  lustre  is  lighted 

and  drawn  np\     Ah! 
CuiGY  [to  Brissaille,   looking  at  Christian].    'Tis  a 

pretty  fellow! 
First  Marquis  [who  has  overheard].     Pooh! 
Ligniere   [introducing  them  to  Christian].     My  lords 

De  Cuigy  .  .  .  De  Brissaille  .  .  . 
Christian  [hoicing].  Delighted!  .  .  . 
First  Marquis  [to  Second].     He  is  not  ill  to  look  at, 

but  certes,  he  is  not  costumed  in  the  latest  mode. 
Ligniere   [to  CuigyJ.      This    gentleman    comes    from 

Touraine. 
Christian.     Yes,  I  have  scarce  been   twenty  days  in 

Paris;  to-morrow  I  join  the  Guards,  in  the  Cadets. 
First  Marquis  [watchirig  the  people  who  are  coming 

into  the  boxes].     There  is  the  wife  of  the  Chief - 

Justice. 
The  Buffet-Girl.     Oranges,  milk  .  .  . 
The  Violinists  [tuning  np\.     La — la — 
Cuigy   [to  Christian,  2^oi7iting  to  the  hall,  ivhich  is 

filling  fast].     'Tis  crowded. 
Christian.     Yes,  indeed. 
First  Marquis.     All  the  great  world! 


10  CYliANO  DE  BERGERAC. 

[Tliey  recognize,  and  name  the  different  elegantly 
dressed  ladies  who  enter  the  boxes,  howiiig  low 
to  them.     Hie  ladies  send  smiles  in  answer.  ] 

Second  Marquis.     Madame  de  Guemenee. 

CuiGY.     Madame  de  Bois-Daiiphin. 

First  Marquis.     Adored  by  us  all! 

Brissaille.     Madame  de  Chavigny  .   .  . 

Second  Marquis.  Whosports  with  our  poor  hearts!  ... 

LiGNiERE.  Ha!  so  Monsieur  de  Corneille  has  come  back 
from  Rouen! 

The  Young  Man  [tohis  father\    Is  the  Academy  here  ? 

The  Burgher.  Oh,  ay,  I  see  several  of  them.  There 
is  Boudu,  Boissat,  and  Cureau  de  la  Chambre, 
Porcheres,  Colomby,  Bourzeys,  Bourdon,  Arbaud 
...  all  names  that  will  live!     'Tis  fine! 

First  Marquis.  Attention!  Here  comes  our  jjre- 
cieuses ;  Barthenoide,  Urimedonte,  Cassandace, 
Felixerie.  .   .  . 

Second  Marquis.  Ah!  How  exquisite  their  fancy 
names  are!     Do  you  know  them  all,  Marquis  ? 

First  Marquis.     Ay,  Marquis,  I  do,  every  one! 

Ligniere  [drawi7ig  Christian  aside].  Friend,  I  but 
came  here  to  give  you  pleasure.  The  lady  comes 
not.     I  will  betake  me  again  to  my  pet  vice. 

Christian  [persuasively].  No,  no!  You,  who  are 
ballad-maker  to  Court  and  City  alike,  can  tell  m© 
better  than  any  who  the  lady  is  for  whom  I  die  of 
love.     Stay  yet  awhile. 

The  First  Violin  [striking  his  how  on  the  desk].  Gen- 
tlemen violinists! 

[He  raises  his  bow.] 


criL-iyo  Dt:  BERGERAG.  U 

The  Buffet-Girl.     Macaroons,  lemon-drink  .  .  . 
[TJie  violins  begin  to 2:)lay.^ 

Christian.  Ah!  I  fear  me  she  is  coquettish,  and  over 
nice  and  fastidious!  I,  who  am  so  poor  of  wit, 
how  dare  I  speak  to  her — how  address  her  ?  This 
language  that  they  speak  to-day — ay,  and  write — 
confounds  me;  I  am  but  an  honest  soldier,  and 
timid  withal.  She  has  ever  her  place,  there,  on  the 
right — the  empty  box,  see  you! 

LiGNiERE  [making  as  if  to  go].     I  must  go. 

Christian  [detaining  hini].     Nay,  stay. 

LiGNiERE.  I  cannot.  D'Assoucy  waits  me  at  the  tav- 
ern, and  here  one  dies  of  thirst. 

The  Buffet-Girl  [passing  hefore  him  tvith  a  tray]. 
Orange  drink  ? 

Ligmere.     Ugh! 

The  'Buffet-Girl.     Milk  ? 

LiGNiERC.     Pah! 

The  Buffet-Girl.     Rivesalte  ? 

LiGNiERE.  Stay.  [To  Christian.]  I  will  rennin 
awhile.     Let  me  taste  this  rivesalte. 

[He  sits  hy  the  buffet;  the  girl  pours  someout  for  him.] 

Cries  [from  all  the  audience,  at  the  entrance  of  a 
plump  little  man,  joyously  excited].  Ah!  Ragu- 
eneau! 

Ligmere  [to  Christian].  'Tis  the  famous  tavern-keeper 
Ragueneau. 

Ragueneau  [dressed  in  the  Sunday  clothes  of  a  pastry- 
cook, going  yp  quickly  to  Ligniere].  Sir,  have 
you  seen  Monsieur  de  Cyrano  ? 

Ligniere  [introducing  him  to  Christian].  The  pastry- 
cook of  the  actors  and  the  poets! 


12  GTRANO  BE  BERGERAG. 

Ragueneau     [overcome].       You    do    me    too    great 

honor  .  .  . 
LiGNiERE.     Nay,  hold  your  peace,  Maecenas   that  you 

are! 
Ragueneau.     True,  these  gentlemen  employ  me  .  .  . 
LiGNiERE.  On  credit! 

He  is  himself  a  poet  of  a  pretty  talent  .  .   . 
Ragueneau.     So  they  tell  me. 
LiGNiERE.     Mad  after  poetry! 
Ragueneau.     'Tis  true  that,  for  a  little  ode  .  . 
LiGNiERE.     You  give  a  tart  .  .  . 
Ragueneau.     Oh! — a  tartlet! 

LiGNiERE.     Brave  fellow!  he  would  fain  excuse  himself! 
— And   for  a  triolet,  now,    did   you   not  give   in  ex- 
change .  .  . 
Ragueneau.     Some  little  rolls! 
LIGNIERE  [severely].     They  were  milk-rolls!    And  as  for 

the  theatre,  which  you  love  ? 
Ragueneau.     Oh!  to  distraction! 
LiGNiERE.     How  pay  you  your  tickets,  ha  ? — with  cakes  ? 
Your  place,  to-night,  come  tell  me  in  my  ear,  what  did 

it  cost  you  ? 
Ragueneau.     Four  custards,  and  fifteen  cream-puffs. 
[He  looks  round  on  all  sides.]     Monsieur  de  Cyrano  is 

not  here!     'Tis  strange. 
Ligniere.     Why  so  ? 
PwAGueneau.     Montfleury  plays! 
Ligniere.     Ay,  'tis  true  that  that  old  wine-barrel  is  to 

take  Phoedon's  part  to-night;  but  what   matter  is 

that  to  Cyrano  ? 
Ragueneau.     How  ?    Know  you   not  ?    He  has  got  a 

hot  hate  for  Montfleury,  and  so! — has  forbid  him 


(JYRANO  DE  BERG ER AC.  13 

strictly  to  show  his  face  on  the  stage  for  one  whole 
month. 

LiGNiEiiE  [drinking  Ids  fourth  glass].     Well? 

Ragueneau.     Mouttteury  will  play! 
aCuigy.     He  cannot  hinder  that. 

Ragueneau.     Oh!  oh!  that  I  have  come  to  see! 

First  Marquis.     Who  is  this  Cyrano? 

CuiGY.     A  fellow  well  skilled  in  all  tricks  of  fence. 

Second  Marquis.     Is  he  of  noble  birth  ? 

CuiGY.  Ay,  noble  enough.  He  is  a  cadet  in  the 
Guards.  [Pointing  to  a  gentleman  ivho  is  going 
up  and  down  the  hall  as  if  searching  for  some 
one].  But  'tis  his  friend  Le  Bret,  yonder,  who  can 
best  tell  you.  [He  calls  him.]  Le  Bret!  [Le  Bret 
comes  toward  them.]     Seek  you  for  De  Bergerac? 

Le  Bret.     Ay;  I  am  uneasy  .  .  . 

CuiGY.     Ls  it  not  true  that  he  is  the  strangest  of  men  ? 

Le  Bret  [tenderly].  True,  that  he  is  the  choicest  of 
earthly  beings! 

Ragueneau.     Poet! 

CuiGY.     Soldier! 

Brissaille.     Philosopher! 

Le  Bret.     Musician! 

Ligniere.     And  of  how  fantastic  a  presence: 

Ragueneau.  Marry,  'twould  puzzle  even  our  grim 
painter  Philippe  de  Champaigne  to  portray  him ! 
Merhinks,  whimsical,  wild,  comical  as  he  is,  only 
Jacques  Callot,  now  dead  and  gone,  had  succeeded 
better,  and  had  made  of  him  the  maddest  fighter  of 
all  his  visored  crew — with  his  triple-plumed  beaver 
and  six-pointed  doublet — the  sword-point  sticking 
up  'neath  his  mantle  like  an  insolent  cocktail!   He's 


14  CYI{A^''0  DE  BEEGERAC. 

prouder  than  all  the  fierce  Artabans  of  whom  Gas- 
cony  has  ever  been  and  will  ever  be  the  prolific 
Alma  Mater!  Above  his  Toby  ruff  he  carries  a 
nose! — ah,  good,  my  lords,  what  a  nose  is  his! 
When  one  sees  it  one  is  fain  to  cry  aloud:  "Nay!^ 
'tis  too  much!  He  plays  a  joke  on  Us!"  Then  one 
laughs  and  says:  "He  will  anon  take  it  off."  But 
no!— Monsieur  de  Bergerac  alwaj's  keeps  it  on. 

Le  Bret  [throwiny  hack  his  head].  He  keeps  it  on — 
and  cleaves  in  two  any  man  who  dares  remark 
on  it! 

Ragueneau  {proudly].  His  sword — 'tis  one-half  of  the 
Fates'  shears! 

First  Marquis  [shrugging  his  shoulders'].  He  will  not 
coiae! 

Ragueneau.  I  say  he  will!  and  I  wager  a  fowl! — ct  la 
Ragueneau. 

The  Marquis  [laughing].  Good! 
■  [Murmurs  of  admiration  in  the  hall.  Roxane  has 
just  appeared  in  her  box.  She  seats  herself  in 
front,  the  duenna  at  the  hack.  Christian,  ii'Jio 
is  paying  the  Buffet-Girl,  does  not  see  her  en- 
trance.] 

Second  Marquis  [with  little  cries  of  joy].  Ah,  gentle- 
men! she  is  fearfully — terribly — ravishing! 

First  Marquis.  When  one  looks  at  her  one  thinks  of  a 
peach  smiling  at  a  strawberry! 

Second  Marquis.  And  what  freshness!  A  man  ap- 
proaching her  too  near  might  chance  to  get  a  bad 
chill  at  the  heart! 

Christian  [raising  his  head,  sees  Roxane,  and  catches 
Ligniere  by  the  arm].     'lis  she! 


CYRANO  BE  BERGKllAG.  15 

LiGNiERE,     Ah!  is  it  she? 

Christian.     Ay,  tell  me  quick — I  am  afraid. 

LiGNiERE  [tasting  his  rivesalte  in  sips].     Magdaleine 

Robin— Roxane,  so  called!    A  subtle  wit— a  pri- 

cieuse. 
Christian.     Woe  is  me! 
LiGNiKRE.     Free.     An  orphan.     The  cousiu  of  Cyrano, 

of  whom  we  were  now  speaking. 

[At  this  moment  an  elegant  nohleman,  ivith  blue  rib- 
bon across  his  breast,  enters  the  box^  and  talks 
with  Roxane,  standing]. 

Christian  [starting].     Who  is  yonder  man  ? 

Ligniere  [ivho  is  becoming  ti2)sy,  winking  at  him].  Hal 
ha!  Count  de  Guiche.  Enamored  of  her.  But 
wedded  to  the  niece  of  Armand  de  Richelieu. 
Would  fain  raarry  Roxane  to  a  certain  sorry  fellow, 
one  ^Monsieur  de  Valvert,  a  viscount — and — accom- 
modating! She  will  none  of  that  bargain;  but  De 
Guiche  is  powerful,  and  can  persecute  the  daughter 
of  a  plain  untitled  gentleman.  More  by  token,  I 
myself  have  exposed  this  cunning  plan  of  his  to  the 
world,  in  a  song  which  .  .  .  Ho!  he  must  rage  at 
me!    The  end   hit  home.  .  .  .     Listen! 

[He  gets  up  staggering,  and  raises  his  glass,  ready 
to  sing .] 

Christian.     No.     Good-night. 

Ligniere.     Where  go  you  ? 

Christian.     To  Monsieur  de  Valvert! 

Ligniere.    Have  a  care!    It  is  he  who  will  kill  yoa 

[showing  him  Roxane  by  a  look].     Stay  where  you 

are — she  is  looking  at  you. 


10  CYRANO  DE  BERQERAG. 

Christian.     It  is  true! 

{He  stands  lookimj  at  her.  Tlie  group  of  pick' 
pockets,  seeing  hitn  thus,  head  in  air  and  open- 
mouthed,  draw  near  to  him.] 

LiGNiERE.     'Tis  I  who  am  going.     I  am  athirst!    And 

they  expect  me— in  the  taverns! 
[He  goes  out,  reeling]. 
Le  Bret  [who  has  been  all  rouiid  the  hall,  coming  back 

to  Ragueneau  reassured].     No  sign  of  Cyrano. 
Bagueneau  [incredulously].     All  the  same  .  .  . 
Le  Bret.     A  hope  is  left  to  me — that  he  has  not  seen 

the  playbill! 
The  Audience.    Begin,  begin! 


SCENE   III. 
The  Save,  all  but  Ligniere.     De  Guiche,  Valvert, 

t?ien    MONTFLEURY. 

A  Marquis  [watching  De  Guiche,  tvJio  comes  down  from 
Roxane's  box,  and  C7vsses  the  pit,  surrounded  by 
obsequious  noblemen,  among  them  the  Vicomte  de 
Valvert].     He  pays  a  fine  court,  your  De  Guiche! 

Another.     Faugh!  .  .  .  Another  Gascon! 

The  First.  Ay,  but  the  cold,  supple  Gascon— that  is 
the  stuff  success  is  made  of!  Believe  me,  we  were 
best  make  our  bow  to  him. 

[They  go  toward  De  Guiche.] 

Second  Marquis.  What  fine  ribbons!  How  call  you 
the  color,  Count  de  Guiche?  "Kiss  me,  my  dar- 
ling," or  "Timid  Fawn?" 


CYRANO  DE  BEROERAG,  17 

De  Guiche.     'Tis  the  color  called  "  Sick  Spaniard." 

First  Marquis.  'Faith!  The  color  speaks  truth,  for, 
thanks  to  your  valor,  things  will  soon  go  ill  for 
Spain  in  Flanders. 

De  Guiche.  I  go  on  the  stage!  Will  you  come  ?  [He 
goes  toward  the  stage,  followed  by  the  Marquises 
and  gentlemen.  Taming,  he  calls.]  Come  you, 
Valvert! 

Christian  [who  is  ivatching  and  listening,  starts  on 
hearing  this  name].  The  Viscount!  Ah!  I  will 
throw  full  in  his  face  my  .  .  .  \_He  puts  his  hand 
in  his  pocket,  and  finds  there  the  hand  of  a  pick- 
pocket ivho  is  about  to  rob  him.  He  turns  round]. 
Hey? 

The  Pickpocket.     Oh! 

Christian  [holding  him  tightly].  I  was  looking  for  a 
glove. 

The  Pickpocket  [smiling  piteously].  And  you  find  a 
hand.  [Changing  his  tone,  quickly  and  in  a  whis- 
per.] Let  me  but  go,  and  I  will  deliver  you  a 
secret. 

Christian  [still  holding  him].     What  is  it  ?  ^ 

The  Pickpocket.  Ligniere  ...  he  who  has  just  left 
you  .  .  . 

Christian  [5a ?7iei9Za?/].     Well? 

The  Pickpocket.  His  life  is  in  peril.  A  song  writ  by 
him  has  given  offense  in  high  places — and  a  hun- 
dred men— I  am  of  them— are  posted  to-night  .  .  . 

Christian.     A  hundred  men!    By  whom  posted? 

The  Pickpocket.     I  may  not  say— a  secret  .  .  . 

Christian  [shrugging  his  shoulders].     Oh! 

The  Pickpocket  [with  great  dignity].  ...  Of  the  pro- 
fession. 


18  CYRANO  DK  BiaiUKUAG. 

Christian.     Where  are  they  posted? 

The  Pickpocket.  At  the  Porte  de  Nesle.  Ou  his  way- 
homeward.     Warn  him. 

Christian  [letting  go  Ms  wrists].  But  where  can  I  find 
him? 

The  Pickpocket.  Run  round  to  all  the  taverns — The 
Golden  Wine-Press,  The  Pine  Cone,  The  Belt  that 
Bursts,  The  Two  Torches,  The  Three  Funnels,  and 
at  each  leave  a  word  that  shall  put  him  on  his 
guard. 

Christian.  Good— I  fly!  Ah,  the  scoundrels!  A  hun- 
dred men  'gainst  one!  {Looking  lovingly  at  Rox- 
ANE,]  Ah,  to  leave  her!  .  .  .  [looking  with  rage 
at  Valvert]  and  him !  .  .  .  But  save  Ligniere  I 
must! 

[He  hurries  out.  De  Guiche,  the  Viscount,  the 
Marquises,  Iiave  all  disappeared  behind  the 
curtain  to  take  their  places  on  the  benches 
placed  on  the  stage.  Tlie  pit  is  quite  fuU; 
the  galleries  and  boxes  are  also  ci'owded.] 

The  Audience.     Begin! 

A  Burgher  [whose  urig  is  drawn  up  on  the  end  of  a 

string  by  a  Page  in  the  upper  gallery'].     My  wig! 
Cries  OF  Deught.     He  is  bald!    Bravo,  pages— hal  hat 

ha!  .  .  .. 
The  Burgher    [furious,   shaking  his  fist].      Young 

villain! 
Laughter  and  Cries  [beginning  very  lotid,  amf  dyioig 

gradually  away].     Ha!  ha!  ha!  hal  hal  had 

[Total  silence.^ 


CYRANO  DE  BERGERAC.  19 

Le  Bret  [astonished].  What  means  this  sudden 
silence  ?  .  .  .  [  A  Spectator  says  something  to  him 
in  a  low  voice.  ]     Is't  true  ? 

The  Spectator.  I  have  just  heard  it  on  good  authority. 

Murmurs  [spreading  through  the  hall].  Hush!  Is  it 
he?  No!  Ay,  I  say!  In  the  box  with  the  bare  in 
front!  The  Cardinal!  The  Cardinal!  The  Car- 
dinal! 

A  Page.  The  devil!  We  shall  have  to  behave  our- 
selves! .  .  . 

[A  knock  is  heard  upon  the  stage.     Every  one  is  mo- 
tionless.    A  pause.] 

The  Voice  of  a  Marquis  [in  the  silence,  behind  the 
curtain].     Snuff  that  candle! 

Another  Marquis  [pidting  his  head  through  the  open- 
ing in  the  curtain],     A  chair! 

[A  chair  is  passed  from  hand  to  hand^  over  tlie 
heads  of  the  sp>eetators.  The  Marquis  takes  it 
and  disappears,  after  blowing  some  kisses  to 
the  boxes.  ] 

A  Spectator.     Silence ! 

[Ihree  knocks  are  heard  on  the  stage.  The  curtain 
opens  in  the  centre.  Tableau,  'ihe  Marquises 
in  insolent  attitudes  seated  on  each  side  of  th.e 
stage.  The  scene  represents  a  pastoral  land- 
scape. Four  little  lustres  light  the  stage ;  tlie 
violins  play  softly.  ] 

Le  Bret  [in  a  low  voice  to  Ragueneau].  Montfleury 
comes  on  the  scene  ? 


20  CYRANO  BE  BEHGERAC. 

Ragueneau   [also   in  a  low  voice].     Ay,  'tis  he  "who 

begins. 
Le  Bret.     Cyrano  is  not  here. 
Ragueneau.     I  have  lost  my  wager. 
Le  Bret.     'Tis  all  the  better! 

{An  air  on  the  drone-pipes  is  heard,  and  Mont- 
fleury  enters,  enormously  stout,  in  an  Arca- 
dian shepherd's  dress,  a  hat  wreathed  with 
roses  drooping  over  one  ear,  blowing  into  a 
ribboned  drone-pipe.] 

The  Pit   [applauding].      Bravo,    Montfleury!     Mont- 

fleuryr 
Montfleury   [after   bowing  loiv,   begins  the  part  of 

Phcedon]. 

*'  Heureux  qui  loin  des  cours,  dans  iin  lieu  solitaire, 
Se  prescrit  a  soi-merae  un  exil  volontaire, 
Et  qui,  lorsque  Zephire  a  souffle  sur  les  bois  ..." 

A  Voice  [from  the  middle  of  the  pit].     Villain!    Did  I 
not  forbid  you  to  show  your  face  here  for  a  month  ? 

[General  stupor.     Evei'y  one  turns  round.     Murmurs.] 

Different  Voices.     Hey  ?— What  ?— What  is't  ?  .  .  . 

[The  peojyle  stand  up  in  the  boxes  to  look.l 

CuiGY.     'Tis  he! 
Le  Bret  [terrified].     Cyrano! 

The  Voice.     King  of  clowns!    Leave  the  stage  this  in- 
stant! 
All  the  Audience  [indignantly].    Oh! 
Montfleury.     But  .  .  . 
The  Voice.     Do  you  dare  defy  me  ? 


CYMA^'^0  UE  BEllGERAC.  21 

Different  Voices  [from  the  pit  and  the  hoxes].    Peacel 

Enough! — Play  on,  Montfleury — fear  nothing! 
MoNTFLEURY   [in  (i  trembling  voice],     "  Heureux  qui 

loin  des  cours,  dans  un  lieu  sol " 

The  Voice   [more  fiercely].     Well!    Chief   of  all  the 

blackguards,  must  I  come  and  give  you  a  taste  of 

my  cane  ? 

[A  hand  holding  a  cane  starts  up  over  the  heads  of 
the  spectators.] 

Montfleury  [in  a  voice  that  trenibles  more  and  more], 
"  Heureux  qui  ..." 

[77ie  cane  is  shaken.'] 

The  Voice.     Off  the  stage! 

The  Pit.     Oli ! 

Montfleury  [choking].  "Heureux  qui  loin  des 
cours  ..." 

Cyrano  [appearing  suddenly  in  the  pit,  standing  on  a 
chair.,  his  arms  crossea,  Ms  beaver  cocked  fiercely, 
his  mustache  bristling,  his  nose  terrible  to  see]. 
Ah!  I  shall  be  angry  in  a  moment!  .  .  . 

[Sensation.l 


SCEl^E   IV. 

The  Same.     Cyrano,  then  Bellerose,  Jodelot. 

Montfleury  [to  the  Marquises].     Come  to  my  help,  my 

lords! 
A  Marquis  [carelessly].     Go  on!     Go  on! 


22  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAG. 

Cyrano. 

Fat  man,  take  warning!     If  you  go  on,  I 
Shall  feel  myself  constrained  to  cuff  your  face! 

The  Marquis.     Have  done! 

Cyrano. 

And  if  these  lords  hold  not  their  tongue, 
Shall  feel  constrained  to  make  them  taste  my  canel 

All  the  Marquises   [rising^.     Enough!  .  .  .     Mont- 
fleury  .  .  . 

Cyrano. 

If  he  goes  not  quick, 
I  will  cut  off  his  ears  and  slit  him  up! 

A  Voice.     But  .  .  . 

Cyrano. 

Out  he  goes! 

Another  Voice.     Yet  .  .  . 

Cyrano. 

Is  he  not  gone  yet  ? 
{He  makes  the  gesture  of  turning  up  his  cuffs.] 
Good!    I  shall  mount  the  stage  now,  buffet- wise, 
To  carve  this  fine  Italian  sausage — thus! 

MoNTFL'^.URY   [trying  to  be  dignified].     You  outrage 
Thalia  in  insulting  me! 

Cyrano  [very  politely]. 

If  that  Muse,  Sir,  who  knows  you  not  at  all, 
Could  claim  acquaintance  with  you, — oh,  believe 
(Seeing  how  urn-like,  fat,  and  slow  you  are) 
That  she  would  make  you  taste  her  buskin's  sole! 

The    Pit.      Montfleury!      Montfieury!      Come— Baro's 
play! 

Cyrano  [to  those  who  are  calling  out\. 
I  pray  you  ha^e  a  '^"ro!    If  you  go  on, 


CYRANO  DE  BERQERAG.  23 

My  scabbard  soon  will  render  up  its  blade! 

{The  circle  round  him  widens.] 

The  Crowd  [drawing  haclc].     Take  care! 
Cyrano  [to  MontfleuryJ.     Leave  the  stage! 
The  Crowd  [coming  near  and  grumbling].     Oh! — 
Cyrano.  Did  some  one  speak  ? 

[They  draw  hack  again.] 

A  Voice  [singing  at  the  hack]. 

Monsieur  de  Cyrano 
Displays  his  tyrannies: 
A  fig  for  tyrants!     What,  ho! 
Come!     Play  us  "  LaClorise!"  .  .  . 
ffLL  THE  Pit   [singing].      "La  Clorise!"     "La  Clo- 

rise!"  .  .  . 
Cyrano. 

Let  me  but  hear  once  more  that  foolish  rhyme, 

I  siaughter  every  man  of  you. 
A  Bourgeois.     Oh!  Samson? 
Cyrano.     Yes,  Samson!    Will  you  lend  your  Jawbone^ 

sir? 
A  Lady  [vi  the  hoxes].     Outrageous! 
A  Lord.     jScnndalous! 
A  Bourgeois.     'Tis  most  annoying! 
A  Page.     Fair  ^ood  sport! 
The  Pit.     Kssr— Montfluery  .  .  .  Cyrano! 
Cyrano.     Silence! 
The  Pit  [wildly  exmted].     H-o-o-o-o-h!  Quack!    Cock* 

a-doodle-doo! 

Cyrano.     I  order > 

A  Page.     Miow! 


24:  CTRANO  BE  BERQERAG. 

Cyrano.  I  order  silence,  all! 

And  challenge  the  whole  pit  collectively! — 

I  write    your  names! — Approach,   young  heroes, 
here! 

Each  in  his  turn!    I  cry  the  numbers  out!— 

Now  which  of  you  will  come  to  ope  the  lists? 

You,  Sir?    No!    You?    No!    The  first  duelist 

Shall  be  despatched  by  me  with  honors  due! 

Let  all  who  long  for  death  hold  up  their  hands! 
[A  silence.'] 

Modest?    You  fear  to  see  my  naked  blade? 

Not  one  name? — Not  one  hand? — Good,  I  proceed! 
[Turning    toward     the    stage^   where     Montfleury 
waits  in  an  agony.] 

The  theatre's  too  full,  congested, — I 

Would  clear  it  out.  ...  If  not  .  .  , 

[Puts  his  hand  on  his  sword.'[ 

The  knife  must  act! 
Montfleury.    I  .  .  . 
Cyrano  [leaves  his  chair,  and  settles  himself  in  th$ 

middle  of  the  circle  which  has  formed]. 

I  will  clap  my  hands  thrice,  thus— full  moon! 

At  the  third  clap,  eclipse  yourself  I 
The  Pit  [amused].    Ah! 
Cyrano  [clapping  his  hands].     One! 
Montfleury.     I  .  .  . 
A  Voice  [in  the  boxes].     Stay! 
The  Pit.     He  stays  ...  he  goes  ...  he  stays  .  .  • 
Montfleury.     I  think  .  .  .  Gentlemen,  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     Two! 
Montfleury.    I  think  'twere  wisest  .  .  . 


CYRANO  DE  BEROERAC.  25 

Cyrano.     Three! 

[MoNTFLEURY  disappears  as  through  a  trap.       Tem^ 
pest  of  laughs,  w?iistling  cries,  etc.] 

The  Whole  House.     Coward  .  .  .  come  back! 
Cyrano  [delighted  sits  lack  in  his  chair  arms  crossed]. 

Come  back  an  if  you  darel 
A  Bourgeois.     Call  for  the  orator! 

[Bellerose  CO )nes  forward  and  bows.] 
The  Boxes.     Ah!  here's  Bellerose! 
Bellerose  [elegantly].     My  noble  lords  .  .  . 
The  Pit.     No!  no!  Jodelet! 
Jodelet    [advancing,    speaking    through    his    Twse], 

Calves! 
The  Pit.     Ah!  bravo!  good!  go  on! 
Jodelet.     No  bravos,  Sirs! 

The  fat  tragedian  whom  you  all  love 

Felt  .  .   . 
The  Pit.     Coward! 
•Jodelet.        .  .  .  was  obliged  to  go. 
The  Pit.     Come  back  I 
Some.     No! 
Others.     Yes! 
.V  Young  Man  [to  Cyrano]. 

But  pray,  Sir,  for  what  reason,  say, 

Hate  you  Montfleury? 
^  -iRANO  [graciously,  still  seated]. 

Youthful  gander,  know 

I  have  two  reasons, — either  will  suffice. 

Prinio.     An  actor  Tillainous!  who  mouths, 

And  heaves  up  like  a  bucket  fioui  a  well 


2(5  CYRANO  DE  BERGERAG. 

The  verses  that  should,  bird-like,  fly!    Seeundo— 

That  is  my  secret  .  .  . 
Ths  Old  Bourgeois  [behind  him]. 

Shameful!    You  deprive  us 

Of  the  ' '  Clorise  !"     I  must  insist  .  .  . 
Cyrano  [turning  Ms  chair  toward  the  Bourgeois,  /e- 

spectfully].  Old  mule! 

The  verses  of  old  Baro  are  not  worth 

A  doit!     I'm  glad  to  interrupt  .   .  . 
The  Precieuses  [in  the  boxes].  Our  Baro!  - 

My  dear!     How  dares  he  venture!  .  .  . 
Cyrano  [turning  his  chair  [toward  the  boxes,  gallantly]. 

Fairest  ones, 

Radiate,  bloom,  hold  to  our  lips  the  cup 

Of  dreams  intoxicating,  Hebe-lik^! 

Or,  when  death  strikes,  charm  death   with  your 
sweet  smiles;  V 

Inspire  our  verse,  but— criticise  it  not! 
Bellerose.     We  must  give  back  the  entrance  fees! 
Cyrano  [turning  his  chair  toward  the  stage]. 

Bellerose, 

You  make  the  first  intelligent  remark! 

Would  I  rend  Thespis'  sacred  mantle?    Nay! 

[He  rises  and  throws  a  hag  on  the  stage]. 

Catch  then  the  purse  I  throw,  and  hold  your  peace! 

Twr'Rotj?>z  [dazzled].     Ah!     Oh! 

JoDELET  [catching  the  purse  dexterously  and  weighing 
it].  At  this  price,  you've  authority 

To  come  each  night,  and  stop  "  Clorise,"  sir! 

The  Pit.     Ho!  ...  ho!  ho!  .   .  . 

JoDELET.     E'en  if  you  chase  us  in  a  pack!  .  .  . 


CyIiA^^O  I)E  BERGERAC.  -  , 

Bellerose.     Clear  uot  the  hall!  .  .  . 
JoDELET.     Get  you  all  gone  at  once! 

[The people  begin  to  go  out,  i chile  Oyrano  looks  on 
with  satisfaction.  But  the  crowd  soon  stop  on 
hearing  the  following  scene,  and  remain  where 
they  are.  The  women,  ivho,  with  their  nvantles 
on,  are  already  standing  up  in  the  boxes,  stop 
to  listen,  and  finally  reseat  themselves.^ 
Le  Bret  [to  Cyrano].  'Tis  mad!  .  .  . 
A  Bore  [coming  up  to  Cyrano]. 

The  actor  Montfleiiry!     'Tis  shameful! 
Why,  he's  protected -by  the  Duke  of  Candal! 
Have  you  a  patron? 
Cyrano.     No! 

The  Bore.     No  patron?  ... 
Cyrano.     None! 
The  Bore. 

"What!  no  great  lord  to  shield  you  with  his  name? 
Cyrano  [  irritated] . 

No,  I  have  told  you  twice!     Must  I  repeat? 
No!  no  protector  ... 

[His  hand  on  his  sword.] 
A  protectress  .  .   .  here! 
The  Bore.     But  you  must  leave  the  town? 
Cyrano.     Well,  that  depends! 
The  Bore.     The  Duke  has  a  long  arm! 
Cyrano.  But  not  so  long 

As  mine,  when  it  is  lengthened  out  .  .  , 
[Shoivs  his  sword.  ] 

As  thus 
The  Bore.     You  think  not  to  contend? 


28  CYRANO  BE  BEROERAC. 

Cyrano.     'Tismyidea! 

The  Bore.     But  .  .  . 

Cyrano.     Show  your  heels,  now! 

The  Bore.     But  I  .  .  . 

Cyrano.  Show  your  heesl ! 

Or  tell  me  why  you  stare  so  at  my  nose! 
The  Bore  [staggered].     I  .  .  . 
Cyrano  [walking  straight  up  to  him]. 

Well,  what  is  there  strange? 
The  Bore  [drawing  back].     Your  grace  mistakes! 
Cyrano. 

How  now?  Is't  soft  and  dangling,  like  a  trunk? .  .  . 
The  Bore  [same  play].     I  never  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     Is  it  crook'd,  like  an  owl's  beak? 
The  Bore.     I  .  .  . 

Cyrano.     Do  you  see  a  wart  upon  the  tip? 
The  Bore.     Nay  ... 
Cyrano. 

Or  a  fly,  that  takes  the  air  there?    What 

Is  there  to  stare  at? 
The  Bore.     Oh  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     What  do  you  see? 

The  Bore.     But  I  was  careful  not  to  look — knew  better. 
Cyrano.     And  why  not  look  at  it,  an  if  you  please? 
The  Bore.     I  was  .  .  . 
Cyrano.    Oh!  it  disgusts  you! 
The  Bore.     Sir! 
Cyrano.  Its  hue 

Unwholesome  seems  to  you? 
The  Bore.     Sir! 
Cyrano.     Or  its  shape  ? 
The  Bore.     No,  on  the  contrary!  .  .  . 


(J  YRANO  DE  BERG  ERA  C.  t  i 

Why  then  that  air 
-perchance  3'ou  think  it  large  ? 

The  Bork  [stammering]. 

No;  small,  quite  small — minute! 

<  YRANO.  •  Minute!     What  now? 

Accuse  me  of  a  thing  ridiculous! 
Small — my  nose  ? 

The  Bore.     Heaven  help  me! 

Cyrano.  'Tis  enormous! 

'   Old  Flathead,  empty-headed  meddler,  know 
That  I  am  proud,  possessing  such  appendice. 
'Tis  well  known,  a  big  nose  is  indicative 
Of  a  soul  affable,  and  kind,  and  courteous,- 
Liberal,  brave,  just  like  myself,  and  such 
As  you  can  never  dare  to  dream  yourself. 
Rascal  contemptible!     For  that  witless  face 
That  my  hand  soon  will  come  to  cuff — is  all 
As  empty  .  .  .     [He  cuffs  him.] 

The  Bore.     Aie! 

Cyrano.  — of  pride,  of  aspiration, 

Of  feeling,  poetry, — of  godlike  spark 
Of  all  that  appertains  to  my  big  nose, 

[He  turns  him  by  the  shoulders,  suiting  the  action  to 
the  word.] 

As  .   .  .  what  my  boot  will  shortly  come  and  kick! 

The  Bore  [running  aivay].     Help!     Call  the  Guard! 

Cyrano.  Take  notice,  boobies  all 

Who  find  my  visage's  centre  ornament 
A  thing  to  jest  at, — that  it  is  my  wont — 
An  if  the  jester's  noble — ere  we  part 
To  let  him  taste  my  steel,  and  not  my  boot! 


30  CYBANO  BE  BERGERAG. 

De  Guichje  \who^  with  the  Marquises,  has  come  dotmt 
from  the  stage].     But  he  becomes  a  nuisance! 

The  Viscount  de  Valvert  [shrugging  his  sJwulders]. 
Swaggerer! 

De  Guiche.     Will  no  one  put  him  dqjWn  ?  .  .  . 

The  Viscount.  No  one?  But  wait!  I'll  treat  him 
to  .  .  .  one  of  my  quips!  ,  .  .  See  here!  .  .  .  [Ke 
goes  up  to  Cyrano  who  is  watching  him,  and  with 
a  conceited  air.]  Sir,  your  nose  is  .  .  .  hm  .  .  . 
it  is  .  .  .  very  big! 

Cyrano  [gravely].     Very! 

The  Viscount  [laughing].     Ha! 

Cyrano  [imperturhdbly].     Is  that  all  ?  .  .  . 

The  Viscount.     What  do  you  mean? 

Cyrano. 

Ah,  no!  young  blade!    That  was  a  trifle  short! 
You  might  have  said  at  least  a  hundred  things 
By  varying  the  tone,  .  .  .  like  this,  suppose,  .  .  . 
Aggressive:  "Sir,  if  I  had  such  a  nose 
I'd  amputate  it!"     Friendly:  "When  you  sup 
It  must  annoy  you,  dipping  in  your  cup; 
You  need  a  drinking-bowl  of  special  shape!" 
Descriptive:  "'Tisa  rock!  ...  a  peak!  ...  a  capef 
— A  cape,  forsooth!     'Tis  a  peninsular!" 
Curious:  "  How  serves  that  oblong  capsular? 
For  scissor-sheath ?  or  pot  to  hold  your  ink?" 
Gracious:   'J You  love  the  little  birds,  I  think? 
I  see  you've  managed  with  a  fond  research 
To  find  their  tiny  claws  a  roomy  perch!" 
Truculent.  "  When  you  smoke  your  pipe  .  .  .  su^ 

pose 
That  the  tobacco-smoke  spouts  from  your  hoBe,— 


CYRANO  DK  BERQERAC,  31 

Do  not  the  neighbors,  as  the  fumes  rbe  higher, 

Cry,  terror-struck:  '  The  chimney  is  afire  ?'  '* 

Considerate:  "Take care,  .  .  .  your  head  bowed  low 

By  such  a  weight  .  .  .  lest  head  o'er  heels  you  go!" 

Tender:  "Pray  get  a  small  umbrella  made. 

Lest  its  bright  color  in  the  sun  should  fade!" 

Pedantic:  "  That  beast,  Aristophanes, 

Named  Hippocamelelephantoles, 

Must  have  possessed  just  such  a  solid  lump 

Of  flesh  and  bone  beneath  his  forehead's  bump!" 

Cavalier:  "  The  last  fashion,  friend,  that  hook? 

To  hang  your  hat  on  ?     'Tis  a  useful  crook!" 

Emphatic:  "  No  wind,  O  majestic  nose, 

Can  give  thee  cold !— save  when  the  mistral  blowftf" 

Dramatic:  "When  it  bleeds,  what  a  Red  Sea!" 

Admiring:  "Sign  for  a  perfumery!" 

Lyric:  "Is  this  a  conch  ?  .  .  .  a  Triton  you?" 

Simple:  "  When  is  the  monument  on  view  ?" 

Rustic:   "That  thing  a  nose  ?     Marry-come-up! 

'Tis  a  dwarf  pumpkin,  or  a  prize  turnip!" 

Military:  "Point  against  cavalry!" 

Practical:  "Put  it  in  a  lottery! 

Assuredly  'twould  be  the  biggest  prize!'' 

Or  .  .  .  parodying  Pyramus'  sighs  .  .  . 

"  Behold  the  nose  that  mars  the  harmony 

Of  its  master's  phiz!  blushing  its  treachery!" 

— Such,  my  dear  sir,  is  what  you  might  have  said, 

Had  you  of  wit  or  letters  the  least  jot: 

But,  O  most  lamentable  man! — of  wit 

You  never  had  an  atom,  and  of  letters 

You  have  three  letters  only!— they  spell  Ass! 

And, — had  you  had  the  necessary  wit, 


32  CYRANO  BE  BEROERAG. 

To  serve  me  all  the  pleasantries  I  quote 
Before  this  noble  audience,  .  .  .  e'en  so, 
You  would  not  have  been  let  to  utter  one, — 
Nay,  not  the  half  or  quarter  of  such  jest! 
I  take  them  from  myself  all  in  good  part, 
But  not  from  any  other  man  that  breathes! 

De  Guiche    [trying    to  draw    away    the    dismayed 
Viscount].     Come  away.  Viscount! 

The  Viscount  \clioM7ig  with  rage\ 

Hear  his  arrogance! 
A  country  lout    who  .  .  .  who  .   .  .  has  got  no 

gloves! 
Who  goes  out  without  sleeve-knots,  ribbons,  lace! 

Cyrano. 

True;  all  my  elegances  are  within. 

I  do  not  prank  myself  out,  puppy-like; 

My  toilet  is  more  thorough,  if  less  gay; 

I  would  not  sally  forth, — a  half- washed-out 

Affront  upon  my  cheek, — a  conscience 

Yellow-eyed,  bilious,  from  its  sodden  sleep, 

A  ruffled  honor,  .  .  .  scruples  grimed  and  dull! 

I  show  no  bravery  of  shining  gems. 

Truth,  Independence,  are  my  fluttering  plumes. 

'Tis  not  my  form  I  lace  to  make  me  slim. 

But  brace  my  soul  with  efforts  as  with  stays. 

Covered  with  exploits,  not  with  ribbon-knots, 

My  sJDirit  bristling  high  like  your  mustaches, 

I,  traversing  the  crowds  and  chattering  groups 

Make  Truth  ring  bravely  out  like  clash  of  spurs! 

The  Viscount.     But,  sir  .  .   . 

Cyrano.         I  wear  no  gloves  ?  and  what  of  that? 
I  had  one,  .  .  .  remnant  of  an  old  worn  pair, 


CYMANO  DE  BERG  Eli  AC.  33 

And,  knowing  not  what  else  to  do  with  it, 

I  threw  it  in  the  face  of  .  .  .  some  young  fool. 
The  Viscount. 

Base  scoundrel  I    Rascally  flat-footed  lout! 
Cyrano  [taking  off  his  hat,  and  bowing  as  if  the  Vis- 
count had  introduced  himself \, 

Ah  ?  .  .  .  and  I,  Cyrano  Savinien 

Hercule  de  Bergerac, 

[Laughter.  ] 
The  Viscount  [angrily^.     Buffoon! 
Cyrano  [calling  out  as  if  he  had  been  seized  with  the 

cramp].     Aie!  aie! 
The  Viscount   [who  ivas  going  away,   turns    hacTi], 

What  on  earth  is  the  fellow  saying  now  ? 
Cyrano  [unth  grimaces  of  pain]. 

It  must  be  moved, — it's  getting  stiff,  I  vow, 

— This  comes  of  leaving  it  in  idleness  I 

Aie!  ... 
The  Viscount.     What  ails  you  ? 
Cyrano.     The  cramp!  cramp  in  my  sword! 
The  Viscount  [drawing  his  sword].     Good! 
Cyrano.     You  shall  feel  a  charming  little  stroke! 
Tni^Yi^coJJ'iiii:  [contemptuously].     Poet!  .  .  . 
Cyrano.  Ay,  poet,  sir!    In  proof  of  which, 

While  we  fence,  presto!  all  extempore 

I  will  compose  a  ballade. 
The  Viscount.     A  ballade  ? 
Cyrano.     Belike  you  know  not  what  a  ballade  is. 
The  Viscount.     But  .   .  . 
Cyrano  [reciting,  as  if  repeating  a  lesson]. 

Know  then  that  the  ballade  should  oontAia 

Three  eight-versed  couplets  .  .  . 


34  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAG. 

The  Viscount  {stamping}.     Oh! 

Cyeano  [still  reciting].  And  an  envoi 

Of  four  lines  .  .  . 
The  Yiscodnt.     You  .  .  . 
Cyrano.  I'll  make  one  while  we  fight, 

And  touch  you  at  the  final  line. 
The  Viscount.     No! 
Cyrano.  No  ? 

[dedaimi7ig]. 
**  The  duel  in  Hotel  oi  Burgundy,— fought 

By  De  Bergerac  and  a  good-for-naught!" 
The  Viscount.     What  may  that  be,  an  if  you  please? 
Cyrano.     The  title. 
The  House   [in  great  excitement].     Give  room! — Good 

sport! — Make  place! — Fair  play! — No  noise! 

[Tableau.  A  circle  of  curious  spectators  in  the  pit ; 
the  Marquises  and  Officers  mingled  taith  the 
common  people;  the  Pages  climbing  on  each 
other^s  shoulders  to  see  better.  All  the  women 
standing  up  in  the  boxes.  To  the  right,  De 
Guiche  and  his  retinue.  Left.,  Le  Bret,  Rague- 
NEAU,  Cyrano,  etc.] 

Cyrano  [shutting  his  eyes  for  a  second].     Wait  while  I 
choose  my  rhymes.  ...  I  have  them  now!     [He 
suits  the  action  to  each  word.  ] 
*'  I  gayly  doff  my  beaver  low, 
And,  freeing  hand  and  heel, 
My  heavy  mantle  off  I  throw, 

And  I  draw  my  polished  steel: 
Graceful  as  Phoebus,  round  I  wheel. 
Alert  as  Scaramouch, 


CyJlAN(>  BE  BERGEUAG.  35 

A  word  in  vour  ear,  Sir  Spark,  I  steal, — 
At  the  envoi" s  end,  I  touch! 

[They  engage.] 

*'  Better  for  you  liad  you  lain  low; 

Wliere  skewer  my  cock?     In  the  heel? — • 
In  the  heart,  your  ribbon  blue  below  ? — 

In  the  hip,  and  make  you  kneel? 
Ho  for  the  music  of  clashing  steel! 

—What  now  ?— A  hit  ?    Not  much! 
'Twill  be  in  the  paunch  the  stroke  I  steal, 

"When,  at  the  e7iroi,  1  touch. 

*'  Oh,  for  a  rhyme,  a  rhyme  in  o  f — 
You  wriggle,  starch- white,  my  eel? 
A  rhyme!  a  rhyme!  the  white  feather  you  show  ! 

Tac!     I  parry  the  point  of  your  steel; 
— The  point  you  hoped  to  make  me  feel; 

I  open  the  line,  now  clutch 
Your  spit.  Sir  Scullion, — show  your  zeal! 
At  the  encors  end,  I  touch!" 

[He  declaims  solemnly.] 

Envoi. 
'■'>  Prince,  pray  Heaven  for  your  soul's  weal! 
I  move  a  pace — lo,  such!  and  such! 
Cut  over, — feint!" 

[Thrusting.] 

"What  ho!     You  reel?" 
[r/?e  Viscount  staggers.^    Cyraso  salutes.] 
"  At  the  envoi's  end,  I  touch!" 

[Acclamations.   Applause  in  tJic  oo.its.    Fiowtv.'s  and 
handkerchiefs  are  thrown  down.     The  Officers 


36  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAG. 

surround  Cyrano,  congratulating  Mm.  Rague- 
NEAU   dances  for  joy.     Le  Bret  is  happy,  hut 
anxious.     The  Viscount's  friends  hold  him  up 
and  hear  him  away]. 
The  Crowd  [with  one  long  shout.]    Ah! 
A  Trooper.     Tis  superb! 
A  Woman.     A  pretty  stroke! 
Ragueneau.     a  marvel! 
A  Marquis.     A  novelty ! 

Le   Bret.     O   madman!     [The  crowd  presses  round 
Cyrano.     Chorus  of]  Compliments!    Bravo!    Let 
me  congratulate!  .  .  .  Quite  unsurpassed!  .  .  . 
A  Woman's  Voice.    There  is  a  hero  for  you!  .  .  . 
A  Musketeer  [advancing  to  Cyrano  with  outstretched 
hand].  Sir,  permit; 

Naught  could  be  finer; — I'm  a  judge,  I  think; 
I  stamped,  i'  faith! — to  show  my  admiration! 
[He  goes  away.] 
Cyrano  [to  CuigyJ.     Who  is  that  gentleman? 
CuiGY.     Why — D'Artagnan. 
Le  Bret  [to  Cyrano,  taking  his  arm.] 

A  word  with  you!  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     Wait;  let  tlie  rabble  go!  .  .  .     [To  Belle- 
rose  ]     May  I  stay? 
Bellerose  [respectfully].     Without  doubt! 

[Cries  are  heard  outside.] 
JoDELET  [u^Jio  has  looked  out].     They  hoot  Montfleuryl 
ByiAjERO^y,  [solemnly].     Sic  transit !  .  .  . 
[  To  the  Porters.  J 
Sweep — close  all,  but  leave  the  lights. 
We  sup,  but  later  on  we  must  return- 


CYIiA^'U  DE  JJKliGEUAC.  37 

For  a  rehearsal  of  to-morrow's  farce. 
[JoDELET    and    Bellerose    (JO    out,    hoiving    loiv    to 

Cyrano,  j 
The  Porter  [to  Cyrano].     You  do  not  dine,  sir? 
Cyrano.     No. 

[The  Porter  goes  oitt.'\ 
Le  Bret.     Because? 
Cyrano  [proudly].  Because  .  .  . 

[Clianging  his  tone  as  the  Porter  goes  awag.] 

I  have  no  money!  .   .  . 
Le  Bret  [with  the  action  of  throiving  a  hag]. 

How!    The  bag  of  crowns?  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     Paternal  bounty,  in  a  day,  thou'rt  sped! 
Le  Bret.     How  live  the  next  month?  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     I  have  nothing  left. 
Le  Bret.     Folly! 

Cyrano.     But  what  a  graceful  action!    Think! 
The  Buffet-Girl  [coughing,  'behind  her  counter]. 

Hum!     [Cyrano  and  Le  Bret  t^irn.     iSJie  comes 

timidly  forward.]   Sir,  my  heart  mislikes  to  know 

you  fast.     [Showing  the  bit^et.]   See,  all  you  need. 

Serve  yourself! 
Cyrano  [taldng  off  his  hat].  Gentle  child, 

Although  my  Gascon  pride  would  else  forbid 

To  take  the  least  bestowal  from  your  hands, 

My  fear  of  wounding  you  outweighs  that  pride, 

And  bids  accept  ... 

[He  goes  to  the  buffet.] 

A  trifle!  .    .   .  These  few  grapes. 
[She  offers  him  the  whole  bunch.    He  takes  a  few.] 

Nay,  but  this  bunch!  .  .  . 

[She  tries  to  give  Jri/n  wine,  but  he  stops  her.] 


38  CYRANO  BE  B ERG E RAG. 

A  glass  of  water  iair!  .  .  . 
And  half  a  macaroon! 

[He  gives  hack  the  other  half.] 
Le  Bret.     What  foolery! 
The  Buffet-Girl.     Take  something  else! 
Cyrano.     I  take  your  hand  to  kiss. 

[He  kisses  her  hand  as  though  she  were  a  princess. '[ 
The  Buffet-Girl.     Thank  you,  kind  sir!     [She  cour 
tesies.]    Good-night.     [She  goes  out.] 


SCENE   V. 

Cyrano,  Le  Bret. 

Cyrano  [to  Le  Bret].     Now  talk — I  listen. 

[He  stands  at  the  huffet^  and  placing  before  him  first 

the  macaroon.] 

Dinner!  .  .  .  [then  the  grapes^] 

Dessert!   .  .  .    [then  the  glass  of  water ^] 

Wine!  .  .  .  [he  seats  himself .] 

So!     And  now  to  table! 

Ah!  I  was  hungry,  friend,  nay,  ravenous! 

[Eating.]     You  said ? 

Le  Bret,  These  fops,  would-be  belligerent, 

Will,  if  you  heed  them  only,  turn  your  head!  .  .  . 

Ask  people  of  good  sense  if  you  would  know 

The  effect  of  your  fine  insolence — 
Cyrano  [fimshing  his  macaroon].     Enormous! 
Le  Bret.     The  Cardinal  ... 
Cyrano  [radiant].    The  Cardinal— was  there? 
Le  Bret.     Must  have  thought  it  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     Original,  i'  faith! 
Le  Bret.     But  .  .  . 


CYRANO  BK  BKROKliAG,  39 

Cyrano. 

He's  an  author.     Twill  not  fail  to  please  him 

That  I  should  mar  a  brother-author's  play. 
Le  Bret.  You  make  too  many  enemies  by  far! 
Cyrano  {eating  hi^  grajoes]. 

How  many  think  you  I  have  made  to-night? 
Le  Bret.     Forty,  no  less,  not  counting  ladies. 
Cyrano.     Count! 
Le  Bret. 

Montfleury  first,  the  bourgeois,  then  De  Guiche, 

The  Viscount,  Baro,  the  Academy  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     Enough!     I  am  o'erjoyed! 
Le  Bret.  But  these  strange  ways, 

Where  will  they  lead  you,  at  the  end?    Explain 

Your  system — come! 
Cyrano.  I  in  a  labyrinth 

Was  lost — too  many  different  paths  to  choose; 

I  took  .  .  . 
Le  Bret.     Which? 
Cyrano.         Oh!  by  far  the  simplest  path  .  .  . 

Decided  to  be  admirable  in  all! 
Le  Bret  [shrugging  Ms  shoulder s\ 

So  be  it!     But  the  motive  of  your  hate 

To  Montfleury — come,  tell  me! 
Cyrano  [rising].  This  Silenus, 

Big-bellied,  coarse,  still  deems  himself  a  peril — 

A  danger  to  the  love  of  lovely  ladies, 

And,  while  he  sputters  out  his  actor's  part, 

Makes  sheep's  eyes  at  their  boxes— goggling  frog ! 

I  hate  him  since  the  evening  he  presumed 

To  raise  his  eyes  to  hers.  .  .  .     Meseemed  I  saw 

A  slug  crawl  slavering  o'er  a  flower's  petals! 


40  CrBANO  DE  BERGERAG. 

Le  Bret  [stupefied]. 

How  now?    What?    Can  it  be  ...  ? 

Cyrano  [laughing  bitterly].     That  I  should  love?  .  .  . 
[Changing  his  to7ie,  gravely.]     I  love. 

Le  Bret.     And  may  I  know?  .  .  .    You  never  said  .  .  . 

Cyrano. 

Come  now, bethink  you!  .  .  .     The  fond  hope  to  be 

Beloved,  e'en  by  some  poor  graceless  lady, 

Is,  by  this  nose  of  mine,  for  aye  bereft  me; 

— This  lengthy  nose  which,  go  where'er  I  will, 

Pokes  yet  a  quarter- mile  ahead  of  me; 

But  I  may  love,— and  who?    'Tis  Fate's  decree 

I  love  the  fairest— how  were't  otherwise? 

Le  Bret.     The  fairest?  ... 

Cyrano.  Ay,  the  fairest  of  the  world. 

Most  brilliant — most  refined — most  golden-haired! 

Le  Bret.     Who  is  this  lady? 

Cyrano.  She's  a  danger  mortal. 

All  unsuspicious, — full  of  charms  unconscious, 
Like  a  sweet  perfumed  rose, — a  snare  of  nature. 
Within  whose  petals  Cupid  lurks  in  ambush! 
He  who  has  seen  her  smile  has  known  perfection, 
— Instilling  into  trifles  grace's  essence. 
Divinity  in  every  careless  gesture; 
Not  Venus'  self  can  mount  her  conch  blown  sea- 
ward. 
As  she  can  step  into  her  chaise  a  porteurs, 
Nor  Dian  fleet  across  the  woods  spring-flowered, 
Light  as  my  Lady  o'er  the  stones  of  Paris! 

Le  Bret.     Sapristi  !  all  is  clear! 

Cyrano.     As  spider-webs! 

Le  Bret.     Your  cousin,  Madeleine  Robin? 


CYRANO  DE  BEROERAG.  41 

Cyrano.     Roxane! 

Le  Bret. 

Well,  but  so  much  the  better  1    Tell  her  so! 
She  saw  your  triumph  here  this  very  night! 

Cyrano. 

Look  well  at  me, — then  tell  me,  with  what  hope 

This  vile  protuberance  can  inspire  my  heart! 

I  do  not  lull  me  with  illusions, — yet 

At  times  I'm  weak;  in  evening  hours  dim 

I  enter  some  fair  pleasaunce,  perfumed  sweet; 

With  my  poor  ugly  devil  of  a  nose 

I  scent  spring's  essence, — in  the  silver  rays 

I  see  some  knight, — a  lady  on  his  arm. 

And  think,  "  Tosaunter  thus 'neath  the  moonshine, 

I  were  fain  to  have  my  lady,  too,  beside!" 

Thought  soars  to  ecstasy,  .  .  .  O  sudden  fall! 

— The  shadow  of  my  profile  on  the  wall! 

Le  Bret  [tenderly^     My  friend!  .  .  . 

Cyrano.        My  friend,  at  times  'tis  hard,  'tis  bitter, 
To  feel  my  loneliness, — my  own  ill-favor  .  .  . 

Le  Bret  [taking  his  hand].     You  weep? 

Cyrano.        No,  never!     Think,  how  vilely  suited 
Adown  this  nose  a  tear  its  passage  tracing! 
I  never  will,  while  of  myself  I'm  master,  ' 

Let  the  divinity  of  tears — their  beauty 
Be  wedded  to  such  common  ugly  grossnessi 
Nothing  more  solemn  than  a  tear, — sublimer; 
And  I  would  not  by  weeping  turn  to  laughter 
The  grave  emotion  that  a  tear  engenders! 

Le  Bret. 

Never  be  sad!    What's  love? — a  chance  of  Fortune!' 

Cyrano  [shaking  his  head]. 


42  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAC. 

Look  I  a  Caesar  to  woo  Cleopatra? 

A  Tito  to  aspire  to  Berenice? 
Le  Bret. 

Your  courage  and  your  wit! — The  little  maid 

Who  offered  you  refreshment  even  now, 

Her  eyes  did  not  abhor  you — you  saw  well! 
Cyrano  [impressed].     True! 
Le  Bret. 

Well,  how  then?  ...     I  saw  Roxane  herself 

Was  death-pale  as  she  watched  the  duel. 
Cyrano.    Pale? 
Le  Bret. 

Her  heart,  her  fancy,  are  already  caught! 

Put  it  to  th'  touch! 
Cyrano.     That  she  may  mock  my  face? 

That  is  the  one  thing  on  this  earth  I  fear! 
The  Porter  \i7itroducmg  some  one  to  CyranoJ. 

Sir,  some  one  asks  for  you  ... 
Cyrano  [seeing  the  Duenna].     God!  her  duenna! 


SCENE  VI. 
Cyrano,  Le  Bret,  the  Duenna. 

The  Duenna  [with  a  low  hoiu]. 

I  was  bid  ask  you  where  a  certain  lady 
Could  see  her  valiant  cousin, — but  in  secret. 

Cyrano  [ovenvhelmed'].     See  me? 

The  Duenna  [courtesying]. 

Ay,  sir!    She  has  somewhat  to  tell. 

Cyrano.     Somewhat? 

The  Duenna  [still  courtesying].    Ay,  private  matters! 

Cyrano  [staggering].     Ah,  my  God! 


CYRANO  DE  BERQERAC.  .[:] 

The  Duenna.    To-morrow,  at  the  early  blush  of  dawu, 

We  go  to  hear  mass  at  St,  Koch. 
Cyrano  [leaning  against  Le  Bret].     My  God! 
The  Duenna. 

After, — what  place  for  a  few  minutes'  speech? 
Cyrano  [confused]. 

Where?     Ah!  .  .   .  but  ...  Ah,  my  God!  .  .  . 
The  Duenna.     Say! 
Cyrano.     I  reflect!  .  .  . 
The  Duenna.    Wliere? 

Cyrano.     At — the  pastry-house  of  Ragueneau. 
The  Duenna.     Where  lodges  he? 
Cyrano.     The  Rue— God!— St.  Honore! 
The  Duenna  [going]. 

Good.     Be  you  there.     At  seven. 
Cyrano.     Without  fail. 

[The  Duenna  goes  out.'\ 

SCENE  VII. 

Cyrano,  Le  Bret.     Then  Actors,  Actresses,  Cuigy, 
Brissaille,  Ligniere,  the  Porter,  the  Violinists, 

Cyrano  [falling  into  Le  Bret's  arms]. 

A  rendezvous  .  .   .  from  her!  .  .  . 
Le  Bret.     You're  sad  no  more! 
Cyrano. 

Ah!  let  the  world  go  burnt    She  knows  I  live! 
Le  Bret.     Now  you'll  be  calm,  I  hope? 
Cyrano  [beside  himself  for  joy]. 

Calm?    I  now  calm? 

I'll  b«  frenetic,  frantic. — raving  mad 

Oh,  for  an  army  to  attack! — a  host! 


44  CYRANO  BE  BERG EB AG. 

I've  ten  hearts  iu  my  breast;  a  score  of  arros; 
No  dwarfs  to  cleave  in  twain!  .  .  .     \Wildly?^ 

No!     Giants  now! 

\For  a  few  moments  the  shadows  of  the  Actors  have 
been  moving  on  the  stage,  whispers  are  heard — 
the  rehearsal  is  beginning.     Ihe  Violinists  are 
in  their  places.'] 
A  Voice  from  the  Stage. 

Halloo  there!    Silence!    We  rehearse! 
Cyrano  [laughing].  We  go! 

[He  moves  away.     By  the  big  door  enter  Cuigy,  Bris- 
saille,  and  some  Officers,  holding  up  Ligniere, 
who  is  drunk.] 
Cuigy.     Cyrano! 
Cyrano.     Well,  what  now? 
Cuigy.  A  lusty  thrush 

They're  bringing  you! 
Cyrano  [recognizi7ig  him]. 

Ligniere!  .  .  .  What  has  chanced  ? 
Cuigy.     He  seeks  you! 
Brissaille.     He  dare  not  go  home! 
Cyrano.     Why  not  ? 

Ligniere   [in  a  husky  voice,  showing  him  a  crumpled 
letter] . 
This  letter  warns  me  .  .  .  that  a  hundred  men  .  .  . 
Revenge   that  threatens  me,  .  .   .  that  song,  you 

know 

At  the  Porte  de  Nesle.     To  get  to  my  own  house 
I  must   pass  there.  ...     I  dare  not!  .  .  .     Give 

me  leave 
To  sleep  to-night  beneath  your  roof!    Allow  .  .  . 


CYRANO  BE  BERGER AC.  45 

Cyrano. 

A  hundred  men  ?    You'll  sleep  in  your  own  bed! 

LiGNiERE  [frightened].     But 

Cyrano  [in  a  terrible  voice,  sliowing  him  the  lighted 
lantern  held  by  the  Porter,  who  is  listening  curi- 
onslg].     Take  the  lantern.     [Ligniere  seizes  it.] 

Let  us  start!     I  swear 
That  I  will  make  your  bed  to-night  myself! 

[To  the  Office-rs.] 
Follow;  some  stay  behind,  as  witnesses! 

CuiGY.     A  hundred!  .  .  . 

Cyrano.     Less,  to-night — would  be  too  few! 

[The  Actors  and  Actresses,  i?i  their  costumes,  have 
come  down  from  the  stage,  and  are  listening.] 

Le  Bret.     But  why  embroil  yourself  ? 

Cyrano.     Le  Bret  who  scolds! 

Le  Bret.     That  worthless  drunkard! — 

Cyrano  [slapping  Ligniere  on  the  shoulder]. 

Wherefore  ?    For  this  cause; — 
This  wine  barrel,  this  cask  of  Burgundy, 
Did,  on  a  day,  an  action  full  of  grace; 
As  he  was  leaving  church,  he  saw  his  love 
Take  holy  water; — he,  who  is  afeared 
At  water's  taste,  ran  quickly  to  the  stoup, 
And  drank  it  all,  to  the  last  drop!  .  .  . 

An  Actress.  Indeed, 

That  was  a  graceful  thing! 

Cyrano.     Ay,  was  it  not  ? 

The  Actress  [To  the  others].  But  why  a  hundred  men 
'gainst  one  poor  rhymer  ? 

Cyrano.     March!    [2b  ^7«e  Officers.] 

Gentlemen,  when  you  shall  see  me  charge, 


46  CYRAj^O  DE  BERGERAG. 

Bear  me  no  succor,  none,  whate'er  the  odds! 
Another  Actress   [jumping  down  from  the  stage]. 

Oh!     I  shall  come  and  see! 
Cyrano.     Come,  then! 
Another  [jiunping  down — to  an  old  Actor]. 

And  you  ?  .  .  . 
Cyrano. 

Come  all — the  Doctor,  Isabel,  Leander, 
Come,  for  you  shall  add,  in  a  motley  swarm 
The  farce  Italian  to  this  Spanish  drama! 
All  the  Women  [dancing  for  joy}.     Bravo!— a  mantle, 

quick!— my  hood! 
JODELET.     Come  on! 

Cyrano.     Play  us  a  march,  gentlemen  of  the  band! 
^The  Violinists  join  the  procession,  which  is  form- 
ing.    They  take  the  footlights,  and  divide  them 
for  torches.'] 
Brave  officers!  next,  women  in  costume, 
And,  twenty  paces  on— 

[He  takes  his  place.] 
I,  all  alone, 
Beneath  the  plume  that  Glory  lends,  herself, 
To  deck  my  beaver, — proud  as  Scipio!  .  .  . 
— You  hear  me  ? — I  forbid  you  succor  me! — 
One,  two,  three!    Porter,  open  wide  the  doors! 
\The  Porter  opens  the  doors ;  a  view  of  old  Paris  in 
the  moonlight  is  seen.] 
Ah!  .  .  .  Paris  wrapped  in  night!  half  nebulous: 
The  moonlight    streams    o'er    the  blue-shadowed 

roofs; 
A  lovely  frame  for  this  wild  battle-scene; 
Beneath  the  vapor's  floating  scurves,  the  Seine 


CYRANO  DE  BERGERAC.  47 

Trembles,  mysterious,  like  a  magic  mirror, 
And,  shortly,  you  shall  see  what  you  shall  see! 
All.     To  the  Porte  de  Ncsle! 
C5YRAN0  [standing  on  the  threshold]. 

Ay,  to  the  I'ori"  de  Nesle! 
[Turning  to  the  Actress.] 
Did  you  not  ask,  young  lady,  for  what  cause 
Against  this  rhymer  fivescore  men  were  sent  ? 

[He  draws  his  sword ;  then,  calmly.] 
'Twas  that  they  knew  him  for  a  friend  of  mine! 

[Ee  goes  out.  Ligniere  staggers  first  after  him^ 
then  the  Actresses  on  the  Officers'  arms — the 
Actors.  The  procession  starts  to  the  sound  of 
the  violins  and  in  the  faint  light  of  the  candles.^ 


Curtain. 


48  CYRANO  DE  BEROERAC. 


ACT  II. 
The  Poet's  Eating-Hoube, 

Kaoueneau's  cook  and  pastry-shop.  A  large  kitchen 
at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  St.  Honore  and  the  Rue  de 
I'Arbre  Sec — which  are  seen  in  the  background 
through  the  glass  door,  in  the  gray  dawn. 

On  the  left,  in  the  foreground,  a  counter,  surmounted 
by  a  stand  in  forged  iron,  on  which  are  hung 
geese,  ducks,  and  white  peacocks.  In  great  china 
vases  are  tall  bouquets  of  simple  flowers,  princi- 
pally yellow  sunflowers. 

On  the  same  side,  further  back,  an  immense  open  fire- 
place, in  front  of  which,  between  monster  fire-dogs, 
on  each  of  which  hangs  a  little  saucepan;  the 
roasts  are  dripping  into  the  pans. 

On  the  right,  foreground  with  door. 

Further  back,  staircase  leading  to  a  little  room  under 
the  roof,  the  entrance  of  which  is  visible  through 
the  open  shutter.  In  this  room  a  table  is  laid.  A 
small  Flemish  luster  is  alight.  It  is  a  place  for 
eating  and  drinking.  A  wooden  gallery,  continu- 
ing the  staircase,  apparently  leads  to  other  similar 
little  rooms. 

In  the  middle  of  the  shop  an  iron  hoop  is  suspended 
from  the  ceiling  by  a  string  with  which  it  can  be 
drawn  up  and  down,  and  big  game  is  hung  around 
it. 


CYRANO  I)E  BER0E2,C^,  49 

The  ovens  in  the  darkness  under  the  stairs  give  forth  a 
red  glow.  The  copper  pans  shine.  The  spits  are 
turning.  Heaps  of  food  formed  into  pyramids. 
Hams  suspended.  It  is  the  busy  hour  of  the  morn- 
ing. Bustle  and  hurry  of  scullions,  fat  cooks,  and 
diminutive  apprentices,  their  caps  profusely  decor- 
ated with  cock's  feathers  and  wings  of  guinea-fowl. 

On  metal  and  wicker  plates  they  are  bringing  in  piles  of 
cakes  and  tarts. 

Tables  laden  with  rolls  and  dishes  of  food.  Other  tables 
surrounded  with  chairs  are  ready  for  the  consumers. 

A  small  table  in  a  corner  covered  with  papers,  at  which 
Ragueneau  is  seated  writing  on  the  rising  of  the 
curtain. 

SCENE  I. 
Ragueneau,  Pastry-Cooks,  then  Lise.     Ragueneau 
is  writing,  ivith  an   inspired  air,  at  a  small 
table,  and  counting  on  Ms  fingers. 
First  Pastry-Cook  [bringing  in  an  elaborate  fancy 

dish].     Fruits  in  nougat! 
Second  Pastry-Cook  [bringing  another  dish]. 

Custard! 
Third  Pastry-Cook  [bringing  a  roast,  decorated  toith 

feathers] .     Peacock ! 
Fourth  Pastry-Cook  [bringing  a  batch  of  cakes  on  a 

slab].    Rissoles! 
Fifth  Pastry-Cook  [bringing  a  sort  of  pie-dish]. 

Beef  jelly! 
Ragueneau  [ceasing  to  write,  and  raising  his  head]. 
Aurora's  silver  rays  begin  to  glint  e'en  now  on 
the  copper  pans,   and  thou,  O  Pwigueneau!    must 


50  CYUANO  DE  BERGERAG. 

perforce  stifle  in  thy  breast  the  God  of  Song! 
Anon  shall  come  the  hour  of  the  lute! — now  'tis 
the  hour  of  the  oven!  [He  rises.  To  a  Cook.] 
You,  make  that  sauce  longer,  'tis  too  short! 

The  Cook.     How  much  too  short? 

Ragueneau.     Three  feet. 

[He  passes  on  further.  ] 

The  Cook.     What  means  he? 

First  Pastry-Cook  [shoiving  a  dish  to  Ragueneau]. 
The  tart! 

Second  Pastry-Cook.     The  pie! 

Ragueneau  \hefore  thefire\.  My  Muse,  retire,  lest  thy 
bright  eyes  be  reddened  by  the  fagot's  blaze!  [To 
a  Cook,  shoiving  him  some  loaves.^  You  have  put 
the  cleft  o'  th'  loaves  in  the  wrong  place;  know  you 
not  that  the  ccesura  should  be  between  the  hemi- 
stiches? [To  another,  showing  him  an  unfinished 
pasty. ^  To  this  palace  of  paste  you  must  add  the 
roof.  ...  [To  a  young  Apprentice,  who^  seated 
on  the  ground,  is  spitting  the  fowls.]  And  you, 
p,s  you  put  on  your  lengthy  spit  che  modest  fowl 
and  the  superb  turkey,  my  son,  alternate  them,  as 
the  old  Malherbe  loved  well  to  alternate  his  long 
lines  of  verse  with  the  short  ones;  thus  shall  your 
roasts,  in  strophes,  turn  before  the  flame! 

Another  Apprentice  [also  coming  up  with  a  tray 
covered  by  a  napkin].  Master,  I  bethought  me 
erewhile  of  your  tastes,  and  made  this,  which  will 
please  you,  I  hope. 

[He  uncovers  the  tray.^  and  shows  a  large  lyre  made  of 
pastry.  ] 

Ragueneau  [enchanted].     A  lyre! 


CYRANO  DE  BERGERAG.  51 

The  Apprentice.     'Tis  of  brioche  pastry. 

Ragueneau  [touched].    With  conserved  fruits. 

The  xVpprentice.     The  strings,  see,  are  of  sugar. 

Ragueneau  [giving  him  a  coin^.  Go,  drink  my  health! 
[Seeing  Lise  enter.']  Hush!  my  wife.  Bustle,  pass 
on,  and  hide  that  money.  [To  Lise,  showing  her 
the  lyre,  vnth  a  conscious  look.]  Is  it  not  beauti- 
ful? 

Lise.     'Tis  passing  silly! 

[She  puts  a  pile  of  papers  on  the  counter.] 

Ragueneau.  Bags?  Good.  I  thank  you.  [He  looks 
at  them.]  Heavens!  my  cherished  leaves!  The 
poems  of  my  friends!  Torn,  dismembered  to 
make  bags  for  holding  biscuits  and  cakes!  .  .  . 
Ah,  'tis  the  old  tale  again  .  .  .  Orpheus  and  the 
Bacchantes! 

Lise  [dryly].  And  am  I  not  free  to  turn  at  last  to  some 
use  the  sole  thing  that  your  wretched  scribblers  of 
halting  lines  leave  behind  them  by  way  of  pay- 
ment? 

Eagueneau.  Groveling  ant!  .  .  .  Insult  not  the 
divine  grasshoppers,  the  sweet  singers! 

LiSE.  Before  you  were  the  sworn  comrade  of  all  that 
crew,  my  friend,  you  did  not  call  your  wife  ant 
and  Bacchante! 

Ragueneau.     To  turn  fair  verse  to  such  a  use,! 

Lise.     'Faith,  'tis  all  it's  good  for. 

Ragueneau.  Pray,  then,  madam,  to  what  use  would 
you  degrade  prose  ? 


52  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAG. 

SCENE    II. 

TJie  Same.     Two  Children,  who  have  just  trotted  into 
the  shoj?. 

Ragueneau.     What  would  you,  little  ones  ? 

First  Child.     Three  pies. 

Ragueneau  [sercing  them].   See,  hot  and  well  browned. 

Second  Child.  If  it  please  you,  sir,  will  you  wrap 
them  up  for  us  ? 

Ragueneau  [aside^  distressed].  Alas!  one  of  my  bags! 
[To  the  Children.]  What?  Must  I  wrap  them 
up  ?  [He  takes  a  hag,  and  just  as  he  is  about  to 
put  in  the  pies,  he  reads]  "  Ulysses  thus,  on  leav- 
ing fair  Penelope  .  .  ."  Not  that  one!  .  .  .  [He 
puts  it  aside,  and  takes  another,  and  as  he  is 
ahout  to  put  in  the  pies,  he  reads]  "  The  gold-locked 
Phoebus  ..."  Nay,  nor  that  one!  .  .  .  [Same 
play.] 

LiSE  [impatiently].     What  are  you  dallying  for? 

Ragueneau.  Here!  here!  here!  [He  chooses  a  third, 
resignedly.]  The  sonnet  to  Phillis!  .  .  .  but  'tis 
hard  to  part  with  it! 

LiSE.  By  good  luck!  he  has  made  up  his  mind  at  last! 
[Slirugging  her  shoidders.]     Nicodemus! 

[She  mounts  on  a  chair,  and  begins  to  range  plates  on 
a  dresser.] 

Ragueneau  [taking  advantage  of  the  moment  she  turns 
her  back,  calls  back  the  Children,  who  are  already 
at  the  door].  Hist!  children!  .  .  .  Render  me 
back  the  sonnet  to  Phillis,  and  you  sball  have  six 
pies  instead  of  three.  [T/ie  Children  give  him 
hack  the  hag,  seize  the  cakes  quickly,  and  go  out. 


\ 


Ragueneau,  smoothing  out  the  paper,  begins  to      -» 
declaim.]     ''Phillis!  .  .  ."     On  that  sweet  name  a 
smear  of  butter!     "  Phillis!  .    .  ." 

[Cyrano  enters  hurriedly.^ 

SCENE  III. 
Ragueneau,  Lise,  Cyrano,  then  the  Musketeer. 
Cyrano.     What's  o'clock  ? 
Ragueneau  [boiving  lore].     Six  o'clock. 
Cyrano  [ivith  emotion}.     In  one  hour's  time! 
[He paces  up  and  down  the  shop.} 
Ragueneau  [following  him].     Bravo!    I  saw  .   .  . 
Cyrano.     Well,  what  saw  you,  then  ? 
Ragueneau.     Your  combat!  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     Which  ? 

Ragueneau.     That  in  the  Burgundy  Hotel,  'faith! 
Cyrano  [contemjjtuously].     Ah!  .  .  .  the  duel! 
Ragueneau  [admiringly].     Ay!  the  duel  in  verse!  .  .  . 
Lise.     He  can  talk  of  naught  else! 
Cyrano.     Well!     Good!  let  be! 
Ragueneau  [making  passes  ivith  a  spit  that  he  catches 

up].     "At  \s\iQ  envoi's  ei\(\,l  touch!  .  .  .     At  the 

envoi's  end,  I  touch!"  .  .  .     'Tis  fine,  fine! 
[With  increasing  enthusiasm.] 

"At  the  envoi's  end " 

Cyrano.     What  hour  is  it  now,  Ragueneau  ? 
Ragueneau  [stopping  short  in  the  act  of  thrusting  to 

look  at  the  clock].     Five  minutes  after  six!  ...    "I 

touch!"' 

[He  straightens  himself] 

.  .  .  Oh!  to  write  a  ballade! 


54  CYRANO  DE  BERGERAG. 

LiSE  [to  Cyrano,  wlio,  as  he  passes  hy  the  counter^  has 
absently  shaken  Jiands  with  her]. 
What's  wrong  with  your  hand  ? 

Cyrano.     Naught ;  a  slight  cut. 

Ragueneau.    Have  you  been  in  some  danger? 

Cyrano.     None  in  the  world. 

LiSE  [shaking  her  finger  at  him]. 

Methinks  you  speak  not  the  truth  in  saying  that! 

Cyrano.  Did  you  see  my  nose  quiver  when  I  spoke  ? 
'Faith,  it  must  have  been  a  monstrous  lie  that 
should  move  it.  [Changing  his  tone.]  I  wait 
some  one  here.  Leave  us  alone,  and  disturb  us  for 
naught  an  it  were  not  for  crack  of  doom! 

Ragueneau.  But  'tis  impossible;  my  poets  are  com- 
ing ..  . 

LiSE  [ironically]. 

Oh,  ay,  for  their  first  meal  o'  the  day! 

Cyrano.  Pry  thee,  take  them  aside  when  I  shall  make 
you  sign  to  do  so.  .  .  .     What's  o'clock? 

Ragueneau.     Ten  minutes  after  six. 

Cyrano   [nervously  seating  himself  at  Ragueneau's 
tdble^  and  drawing  some  paper  toivard  him]. 
A  pen!  ,  .  . 

Ragueneau  [giving  him  the  one  from  behind  his  ear]. 
Here— a  swan's  quill. 

A  Musketeer  [with  fierce  mustache,  enters,  and  in  a 
stentorian  voice].     Good-day! 

[Lise  goes  up  to  him  quickly]. 

Cyrano  [turning  round].     Who's  that? 

Ragueneau.  'Tis  a  friend  of  my  wife— a  terrible  war- 
rior— at  least  so  says  he  himself. 

Cyrano  [taking  up  the  pen,  and  wo^eowm^r  Ragueneau 


CYRANO  Db:  BERG  Eli  AG.  55 

away].  Hush!  [To  himself.]  I  will  write,  fold 
it,  give  it  to  her,  and  fly!  [Throws  down  the  pen.] 
Coward!  .  .  .  But  strike  me  dead  if  I  dare  to 
speak  to  her,  ...  ay,  even  one  single  word!  [To 
Ragueneau.]     What  time  is  it? 

Ragueneau.     a  quarter  after  six!  .  .  . 

Cyrano  [striking  Jits  breast].     Ay — a  single  word  of  all 
those  here!  here!  But  writing,  'tis  easier  done  .  .  . 
[He  takes  up  the  pen].     Go  to,  I  will  write  it,  that 
love-letter!     Oh!  I  have  writ  it  and  rewrit  it  in  my 
own  mind  so  oft  that  it  lies  there  ready  for  pen  and 
ink;  and  if  I  lay  but  my  soul  by  my  letter-sheet, 
'tis  naught  to  do  but  to  copy  from  it. 
[He  writes.    Through  the  glass  of  the  door  tht  sil- 
houettes of  their  figures  move  uncertainly  and 
hesitatingly.  ] 

SCENE  IV. 
Ragueneau,  Lise,   the  Musketeer.      Cyrano  at    the 

little  table  writing.     The  Poets,  dressed  in  blaek^ 

their  stockings  ungartered,  and  covered  with  7nud. 
Lise  [entering,  to  Ragueneau]. 

Here  they  come,  your  mud-bespattered  friends! 
First  Poet  [entering,  to  Ragueneau]. 

Brothet'  in  art!  .  .   . 
Second  Poet  [to  Ragueneau,  shaking  his  hands]. 

Dear  brother' 
Third  Poet.     High-soaring  eagle  among  pastry-cooks! 

[He  sniffs.]     Marry!  it  smells  good  here  in  your 

eyrie! 
Fourth  Poet. 

'Tis  at  Phoebus'  own  rays  that  thy  roasts  turn! 


56  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAC. 

Fifth  Poet.     Apollo  among  master-cooks — 

Ragueneau  \wTiom  they  surround  and  embrace]. 

Ah !  how  quick  a  man  feels  at  his  ease  with  them!  .  . 

First  Poet.  We  were  stayed  by  the  mob;  they  are 
crowded  all  round  the  Porte  de  Nesle!  .   .  . 

Second  Poet.  Eight  bleeding  brigand  carcasses  strew 
the  pavements  there — all  slit  open  with  sword- 
gashes! 

Cyrano  [raising  his  head  a  minute]. 
Eight?  .  ,  .  hold,  methought  seven. 
[He  goes  on  writing.  ] 

Ragueneau  [to  Cyrano]. 

Know  you  who  might  be  the  hero  of  the  fray? 

Cyrano  [carelessly'].     Not  I. 

Lise  [to  the  Musketeer].     And  you?  know  you? 

The  Musketeer  [twirling  his  mustache].     Maybe! 

Cyrano  [writing  a  little  way  off: — he  is  heard  mur- 
muring a  word  from  time  to  time]. 
"I  love  thee  !" 

First  Poet.  'Twas  one  man,  say  they  all,  ay,  swear  to 
it,  one  man  who,  single-handed,  put  the  whole 
band  to  the  rout! 

Second  Poet.  'Twas  a  strange  sight! — pikes  and  cud- 
gels strewed  thick  upon  the  ground. 

Gyuk^O  [writing].     .  .  .   "Thine  eyes"  .  .  . 

Third  Poet.  And  they  were  picking  up  hats  all  the 
way  to  the  Quai  d'Orfevres! 

First  Poet. 

Sapristi  !  but  he  must  have  been  a  ferocious  .  .  . 

Qy^rk^o  [same play].     .  .  .   "Thy  lips"  .  .  . 

First  Poet.  'Twas  a  parlous  fearsome  giant  that  was 
the  author  of  such  exploits! 


CYRANO  UE  BERG  Eli  AC.  57 

Cyrano  [same  play]. 

..."  And  when  I  see  thee  come,  I  faint  for  fear." 

Second  Poet  [filching  a  cake]. 

What  has  rhymed  of  late,'  Ragueneau? 

Cyrano  [same  play].  ..."  Who  worships  thee  "... 
[  He  stops,  Just  as  he  is  about  to  sign,  and  gets  up, 
slipping  the  letter  into  his  doublet.]  No  need  I 
sign,  since  I  give  it  her  myself. 

Ragueneau  [to  Second  Poet]. 
I  have  put  a  recipe  into  verse. 

Third  Poet  [seating  himself  by  a  plate  of  cream-puffs]. 
Go  to!    Let  us  hear  these  verses! 

Fourth  Poet  [looking  at  a  take  which  he  has  taken]. 
Its  cap  is  all  a'  one  side! 

[He  makes  one  bite  of  the  top.] 

First  Poet.  See  how  this  gingerbread  wooes  the  fam- 
ished rhymer  with  its  almond  eyes,  and  its  eye- 
brows of  angelica!     [He  takes  it.] 

Second  Poet.     We  listen. 

Third  Poet  isqtieezing  a  cream-puff  gently]. 

How  it  'ftughs!     Till  its  very  cream  runs  over! 

Second  Poe  <*  [biting  a  bit  off  the  great  lyre  of  pastry]. 
This  is  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  ever  I  drew 
any  n>.'^ans  of  nourishing  me  from  the  lyre! 

Ragueneau  [who  lias  put  himself  ready  for  reciting, 
cleared  his  throat,  settled  his  cap,  struck  an  at- 
titude].    A  recipe  in  verse!   .  .  . 

Second  Poet  [to  First,  nudging  him]. 
You  are  breakfasting? 

First  Poet  [to  Second].     And  you  dining,  methinks. 

Ragp«neau.     How  almond  tartlets  are  made. 
Beat  your  eggs  up,  light  and  quick; 
Froth  them  thick; 


58  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAG. 

Mingle  with  them  while  you  beat 
Juice  of  lemon,  essence  fine; 

Then  combine 
The  best  milk  of  almonds  sweet. 

Circle  with  a  custard  paste 

The  slim  waist 
Of  your  tartlet-molds;  the  top 
With  a  skillful  finger-print, 

Nick  and  dint. 
Round  their  edge,  then,  drop  by  drop, 

In  its  little  dainty  bed 
Your  cream  shed; 

In  the  oven  place  each  mold: 

Reappearing,  softly  browned, 
The  renowned 

Almond  tartlets  you  behold! 
The  Poets  [with  mouths  crammed  full]. 

Exquisite!     Delicious! 
A  Poet  [cTio/czn^].     Homph! 

[They  go  up,  eating]. 
Cyrano  [who  has  been  ivatehing,  goes  toward  Ragu- 

ENEAu],     Lulled  by  your  voice,  did  you  see   how 

they  were  stuffing  themselves? 
Ragueneau  [in  a  low  voice,  smiling].     Oh,  ay!    I  see 

well  enough,  but  I  never  will  seem  to  look,  fearing 

to  distress  them;    thus  I  gain  a  double  pleasure 

when  I  recite  to  them  my  poems;  for  I  leave  those 

poor  fellows  who  have  not  breakfasted  free  to  eat, 

even  while  I  gratify  my  own  dearest  foible,  see  you? 
Cyrano  [clapping  him  on  the  shoulder]. 

Friend,  I  like  you  right  well!  .  .  . 


CYRANO  BE  BERGERAG.  59 

[Ragueneau  goes  after  h  is  frie^ids.     Cyrano  follows 
him  with  his  tyes,  tlien,  rather  sharply. \ 

Ho  there!    Lise! 
[LiSE,  who  is  talldng  tenderly  to  the  Musketeer,  starts^ 
and  comes  down  toward  CYRkNO.^ 

So  this  fine  captain  is  laying  siege  to  you? 
Lise  [offended].     One  haughty  glance  of  mine  eye  can 

conquer  any  man  that  should  dare  venture  aught 

'gainst  my  virtue. 
Cyrano.     Pooh!    Conquering  eyes,  methinks,  are  oft 

conquered  eyes. 
Lise  [choking  with  anger].     But- — 
Cyrano  [incisioely].     I  like  Ragueneau  well,  and  so — 

mark  me,  Dame  Lise — I  permit  not  that  he  be  ren- 
dered a  laughing-stock  by  any  .  .  . 
Lise.     But  .  .  . 
Cyrano  [who  ha^s  raised  his  voice  so  as  to  be  heard  by 

the  gallant].     A  word  to  the  wise  .  .  . 

[He  bows  to  the  Musketeer,  and  goes  to  the  doorway 
to  watch,  after  looking  at  the  clock.] 

Lise  [to  the  Musketeer,  tvho  has  merely  bowed  in 
aiiswer  to  Cyrano's  bow].  How  now?  Is  this 
your  courage?  .  .  .  AVhy  turn  you  not  a  jest  on 
his  nose? 

The  Musketeer.    On  his  nose? .  .  .  ay,  ay  .  .  .  his  nose. 
[He  goes  quickly  further  away  ;  Lise  follows  hi?n]. 

Cyrano  [from  the  doorway,  signing  to  Ragueneau  to 
draw  the  Poets  away].     Hist!  .  .  . 

Ragueneau  [showing  them  the  door  on  the  right]. 
We  shall  be  more  private  there  .  .  . 

Cyrano  [impatiently].     Hist!     Hist!  .  .  . 


(50  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAC. 

Kagueneau  [drawing , them  furtlier\ 
To  read  poetry,  'tis  better  here  ... 

First  Poet  {despairingly^  with  his  mouth  full]. 
What!  leave  the  cakes?  ... 

Second  Poet.     Never!     Let's  take  them  with  us! 

{They  aZZ/oZZoid/ Kagueneau  in 2:>rocessio7i,  after 
sweeping  all  the  cakes  off  the  trays.] 


SCENE    V. 
Cyrano,  Roxane,  t7ie  Duenna. 

Cyrano.     Ah!  if  I  see  but  the  faint  glimmer  of  hope, 

then  I  draw  out  my  letter! 
[Roxane,  masked,  followed  by  the  Duenna,  appears  at 

the  glass  pane  of  the  door.     He  opens  quickly.] 
Enter!  .  .  .    {Walking  up  to  the  Dv^mu^.]    Two 

words  with  you.  Duenna. 
The  Duenna.     Four,  Sir,  an  it  like  you. 
Cyrano.     Are  you  fond  of  sweet  things  ? 
The  Duenna.     Ay,  I  could  eat  myself  sick  on  them! 
Cyrano  {catching  up  some  of  the  paper  hags  from  the 

counter.]     Good.     See  you  these  two    sonnets  of 

Monsieur  Beuserade  .  .  . 
The  Duenna.     Hey  ? 

Cyrano  .  .  .  Which  I  fill  for  you  with  cream  cakes! 
The  Duenna  {changing  her  expression].     Ha! 
Cyrano. 

What  say  you  to  the  cake  they  call  a  little  puff  ? 
The  Duenna. 

If  made  with  cream,  Sir,  I  love  them  passing  well. 


CTRANO  BE  BERG ER AC.  (ji 

Cyrano.     Here  I  plunge  six   for  your  eating  into  the 
bosom  of  a  poem  by  Saint  Amant!     And  in  these 
verses  of  Chapelain  I  glide  a  lighter  morsel.     Stay, 
love  you  hot  cakes  ? 
The  Duenna.     Ay,  to  the  core  of  my  heart! 
Cyrano  [filling  her  arms  with  the  bags]. 

Pleasure  me,  then;  go  eat  them  all  in  the  street. 
The  Duenna.     But  .  .  . 
Cyrano  [pusJiing  her  out]. 

And  come  not  back  till  the  very  last  crumb  be  eaten! 
[He  shuts  the  door,  comes  down  toward  Roxane,  and, 
iincovering,  stands  at  a  respectful  distance  from 
her.] 

SCENE  VI. 

Cyrano,  Roxane. 
€Iyrano. 

Blessed  be  the  moment  when  you  condescend, — 

Remembering  that  humbly  I  exist — 

To  come  to  meet  me,  and  to  say  ...  to  tell  ?  .  .  . 
Roxane  [ivho  has  unmasked]. 

To  thank  you  first  of  all.     That  dandy  count. 

Whom  you  checkmated  in  brave  sword-play 

Last  night,  ...  he  is  the  man  whom  a  great  lord, 

Desirous  of  my  favor  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     Ha,  De  Guiche? 
Roxane  [casting  down  her  eyes]. 

Sought  to  impose  on  me  .  .  .  for  husband  .  .  . 
Cyrano.  Ay! 

Husband! — dupe-husband!  .  .  .  Husband  (i  Za  //iocfe.' 
[Bowing.  ] 


62  CTRANO  DE  BERGERAC. 

Then  I  fought,  happy  chauce!  sweet  lady,  not 
For  my  ill  favor — but  your  farors  fair! 

ROiANE. 

Confession  next!  .  .  .     But,  ere  I  make  my  shrift, 
You  must  be  once  again  that  brother- friend 
With  whom  I  used  to  play  by  the  lake-side!  .  .  . 
Cyrano. 

Ay,  you  would  come  each  spring  to  Bergerac! 

ROXANE. 

Mind  you  the  reeds  you  cut  to  make  your  swords? .  . 
Cyrano. 

AVhile  you  wove  corn-straw  plaits   for  your  dolls' 
hair! 
RoxANE.     Those  were  the  days  of  games!  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     And  blackberries!  ... 
RoxAiiE.     In  those  days  you  did  everything  I  bid!  .  .  . 
Cyrano. 

Roxane,  in  her  short  frock,  was  Madeleine  .  .  . 
RoxANE.     Was  I  fair  then  ? 
Cyrano.     You  were  not  ill  to  see! 

ROXANE. 

Ofttimes,  with  hands  all  bloody  from  a  fall. 
You'd  run  to  me!    Then — aping  mother- ways-  - 
I,  in  a  voice  would-be  severe,  would  chide, — 

[She  takes  his  hand.] 
What  is  this  scratch,  again,  that  I  see  here  ? 

[She  starts,  surprised.] 
Oh!  'tis  too  much!     What's  this? 

Cyrano  tries  to  draw  away  his  hand.] 
No,  let  me  see! 
At  your  age,  fie!     Where  did  you  get  that  scratch  ? 
Cyrano.     I  got  it — playing  at  the  Porte  de  Nesle. 


CYRANO  BE  BEROERAC.  63 

RoxANE  [seating  herself  by  the  table,  and  dipping  her 
handkerchief  in  a  glass  of  water]. 

Give  here! 
Cyrano  [sitting  by  ?ier]. 

So  soft!  so  gay  matemai-sweet! 

ROXANE. 

And  tell  me,  while  I  wipe  away  the  blood. 

How  maDy  'gainst  you  ? 
Cyrano.     Oh!  a  hundred— near. 
RoxANE.     Come,  tell  me! 
Cyrano.  No,  let  be.     But  you,  come  tell 

The  thing  just  now,  you  dared  not  .   .   . 
Roxane  [keeping  his  hand]. 

Now,  I  dare! 

The  scent  of  those  old  days  emboldens  me! 

Yes,  now  I  dare.     Listen.     I  am  in  love. 
Cyrano.     Ah!  .  .  . 

Roxane.     But  with  one  who  knows  not. 
Cyrano.     Ah!  .  .  . 
Roxane.     Not  yet. 
Cyrano.     Ah!  .  .  . 

Roxane.     But  who,  if  he  knows  not,  soon  shall  learn. 
Cyrano.     Ah!  .  .  . 
Roxane. 

A  poor  youth  who  all  this  time  has  loved 

Timidly,  from  afar,  and  dares  not  speak  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     Ah!  .  .  , 
Roxane. 

Leave  your  hand;  why,  it  is  fever-hot! — 

But  I  have  seen  love  trembling  on  his  lips. 
Cyrano.     Ah!  .  .  . 


64  CYRANO  DE  BERGERAC. 

RoxANE  [bandaging  his  hand  with  her  handkerchief  \ 
And  to  think  of  it!  that  he  by  chance — 

Yes,  cousin,  he  is  of  your  regiment! 
Cyrano.     Ah!  .  .  . 
RoxANE  [laughing]. 

— Is  cadet  in  your  own  company! 
Cyrano.     Ah!  .  .  . 

ROXANE. 

On  his  brow  he  bears  the  genius-stamp; 
He  is  proud,  noble,  young,  intrepid,  fair  .  .  . 
Cyrano  [rising  suddenly,  very  pale].     Fair! 
RoxANE.     Why,  what  ails  you  ? 
Cyrano.  Nothing;  'tis  .  .  . 

[Re  shows  his  liand,  smiling.] 
This  scratch! 

ROXANE. 

I  love  him;  all  is  said.     But  you  must  know 

I  have  only  seen  him  at  the  Comedy  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     How  ?    You  have  never  spoken  ? 
RoxANE.     Eyes  can  speak. 
Cyrano.     How  know  you  th^n  that  he  ...  ? 
RoxANE.  Oh!  people  talk 

'Neath  the  limes  in  the  Palace  Royale  .   .        Gos 

sip's  chat  has  let  me  know  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     He  is  cadet? 
RoxANE.     In  the  Guards. 
Cyrano.     His  name? 

RoxANE.     Baron  Christian  de  Neuvillette. 
Cyrano.     How  now?  ...     He  is  not  of  the  Guard*! 
RoxANE.  To-day 

Ho  is  to  join  your  ranks,  under  Captain 

Carbon  de  Castel-Jaloux. 


CYRANO  DE  BEROERAG.  m 

Cyrano.  Ah,  how  quick, 

How  quick  the   heart  has   flown!  .  ,   .     But,  vag 
poor  child  .  .  . 

The  Duenna  [opening  the  door]. 

The  cakes  are  eaten,  Monsieur  Bergerac! 

Cyrano.     Then  read  the  verses  printed  on  the  bags? 
[She  goes  out.  ] 
.  .  .  My  poor  child,  you  who  love  but  flowing  words^ 
Bright  wit, — what  if  he  be  a  lout  unskilled? 

ROXANE. 

No,  his  bright  locks,  like  D'Urfe's  heroes  .  .  . 
Cyrano.  Ah! 

A  well-curled  pate,  and  witless  tongue,  perchance?! 
RoxANE.  Ah  no!  I  guess — I  feel — his  words  are  fairE 
Cyrano. 

All  words  are  fair  that  lurk  'neath  fair  mustache t 

—Suppose  he  were  a  fool!  .  .  . 
RoxANE  [stamping  her  foot].     Then  bury  me! 
Cyrano  [after  a  pause]. 

Was  it  to  tell  me  this  you  brought  me  here? 

I  fail  to  see  what  use  this  serves,  Madame. 
RoxANE.     Nay,  but  I  felt  a  terror,  here,  in  the  heart. 

On  learning  yesterday  you  were  Gascons 

All  of  your  company  .  .  . 
Cyrano.  And  we  provoke 

All  beardless  sprigs  that  favor  dares  admit 

'Midst  us  pure  Gascons— (pure!     Heaven  8av«  tksc 
mark!) 

They  told  you  that  as  well? 
RoxANE.  Ah!     Think  how  I 

Trembled  for  him! 
Cyrano  [between  his  teeth].     Not  causeleBsly! 


@«  CYRANO  DE  BERGERAG. 

SoxA^f.  But  when 

Last  night  I  saw  you, — brave,  invincible, — 
Punish  that  dandy,  fearless  hold  your  own 
Against  those  brutes,  I  thought — I  thought,  if  he 
Whom  all  fear,  all — if  he  would  only  .  .  . 

Cyrano.  Good! 

I  will  befriend  your  little  Baron. 

BoxANE.  Ah! 

You'll  promise  me  you  will  do  this  for  m»l 
I've  always  held  you  as  a  tender  friend. 

Cyrano.     Ay,  ay. 

RoxANE.     Then  you  will  be  his  friend  ? 

Cteano.     I  swear! 

BcrxANE.     And  he  shall  fight  no  duels,  promi^t! 

Oyrano.     None. 

EOXANE. 

You  are  kind,  cousin!    Now  I  must  be  gone. 
{She  puts  on  her  mask  arid  veil  quickly;  then,  absently.} 

You  have  not  told  me  of  your  last  night's  fray. 

Ah,  but  it  must  have  been  a  hero  fight!  .  .  . 

— Bid  him  to  write. 

[She  sends  Mm  a  kiss  with  her  fingers.] 

How  good  yon  are! 
Cyrano.     Ay!  ay! 

BOXANS. 

A  hundred  men  a^inst  you?    Now,  farewell. — 

W©  are  great  Iriends? 
Cyrano.     Ay,  ay! 
ItoiANX.  Oh,  bid  him  write! 

You'll  tell  me  all  one  day —    A  hundred  men!— 

Ah,  bravel  .  .  .     How  brave! 


OTRANO  BE  BEROERAC.  67 

OnuLNO  \h(nfflng  to  her\     I  have  fought  better  since. 

{Mlie  goes  out.  Cyrano  stands  motionless,  with  eyes 
on  the  ground.  A  silence.  The  door  (R)  operis. 
RA.GUENEAU  looks  in.  ] 

SCENE   VII. 
Otrano,   Ragueneau,     Poets,   Carbon    de    Oaotbl- 

Jaloux,  the  Cadets,  a  crowd,  then  Db  Guiche. 
Ragueneau.     Can  we  come  in? 
Otrano  [without  stirring].     Yes  .  .  . 

[Ragueneau  sign^  to  his  friends,  and  they  come  in. 
At  the  same  time,  hy  door  at  hack,  enters  Oab- 
BON  DE  Castel-Jaluux,  in  Captain's  uniform. 
He  makes  gestures  of  surprise  on  seeing  Cyraho.] 

Carbon.     Here  he  is! 

Cyrano  [raising  his  head].     Captain!  .  .  . 

Carbon  [delightedly]. 

Our  hero!     We  lieard  all!     Thirty  or  more 

Of  my  cadets  are  there!  .  .  . 
Cyrano  [shrinking  hack].     But  ...  ' 

Carbon  [trying  to  draiv  him  away]. 

Come  with  me! 

They  will  not  rest  until  they  see  you! 
Otrano.     No! 
Carbon. 

They're  drinking  opposite,  at  The  Bear's  Haad. 
Cyrano.     I  .  .  . 
Carbon    [going  to  the  door  and   calling  across  th$ 

street  in  a  voice  of  thunder]. 

He  won't  come!    The  hero's  in  the  sulks! 


68  CYBANO  DE  BERGERAC. 

A  Voice  [outside].     Ah!    Sandious  f 

{TumuU  outside.     Noise  of  hoots  and  swords  is  heard 

approaching.  ] 
Carbon  [rubbing  his  hands]. 

They  are  running  'cross  the  street! 
Cadets  [e7iteri7ig]. 

Mille  dious  !    Capdedious  !    Pocapdedious  ! 
Bagueneau  [drawing  back  startled]. 

Gentlemen,  are  you  all  from  Gascony? 
The  Cadets.     All! 
A  Cadet  [to  Cyrano].     Bravo! 
Cyrano.     Baron! 

Another  [shaking  his  hands].     Vivat! 
Cyrano.     Baron! 

Third  Cadet.     Come!    I  must  embrace  you! 
Cyrano.    Baron! 

Several  Gascons.     We'll  embrace  him,  all  in  turn! 
Cyrano  [not  knowing  whom  to  reply  to]. 

Baron!  .  .  .  Baron!  ...  I  beg  .  .  . 
Bagueneau.     Are  you  all  Barons,  Sirs? 
The  Cadets.     Ay,  every  one! 
Ragueneau.     Is  it  true?  .  .  . 
First  Cadet.     Ay,— why,  you  could  build  a  tower 

With  nothing  but  our  coronets,  my  friend! 
Le  Bret  [entering,  and  running  up  to  Cyrano]. 

They're  looking  for  you!     Here's  a  crazy  mob, 

Led  by  the  men  who  followed  you  last  night  .  .  . 
Cyrano  [alarmed]. 

What!    Have  you  told  them  where  to  find  me? 
Le  Bret  [rubbing  his  hands].     Yes! 
A  Bourgeois  [eiitering,  folloived  by  a  group  of  men]. 

Sir,  all  the  Marais  is  a-coming  here! 


CYRANO  DE  BERGERAU.  e# 

[Outside  the  street  has  filled  with  people.     Chaism  d 

porteurs  and  carriages  have  dravm  up.] 
Le  Bret  [i7i  a  low  voice,  smiling,  to  Cyrano]. 

And  Roxane? 
Cyrano  [quickly].     Hush! 
The  Crowd  {calling  outside].     Cyrano?  .  .  . 

[A  crowd  rush  into  the  shop,  pushing  one  another.  Ac- 
clamations], 
Kagueneau  [standing  on  a  table].  Lol  my  shop 

Invaded!.    They  break  all!    Magnificent! 
People  [crou-ding  round  Cyrano]. 

My  friend!  .  .   .  my  friend  .  .  . 
Cyrano.  Meseems  that  yesterday 

I  had  not  all  these  friends! 
Le  Bret  [deligJited].  Success! 
A  Young  Marquis  [hurrying  up  ivith  his  hands  held^ 

out] .  My  friend, 

Didst  thou  but  know  .  .  . 
Cyrano. 

Thou!  .  .  .     Marry!  .  .  .  thou!  .  .  .    Pray,  whe© 

Did  we  herd  swine  together,  you  and  I? 
Another. 

I  would  present  you,  Sir,  to  some  fair  dames 

Who  in  my  carriage  yonder  .   .  . 
Cyrano  [coldly].  Ah!  and  who 

Will  first  present  you,  Sir,  to  me? 
Le  Bret  [astonisJied].     What's  wrong? 
Cyrano,     Hush! 
A  Man  of  Letters  [with  writing-board]. 

A  few  details  ?  .  .  . 
Oyrano.     No. 


70  CYRANO  BE  BERQERAG. 

Le  Bret  [nvdging  his  elbow].        'Tis  Theophrast, 

Renaudet,  ...  of  the  Court  Gazette  ! 
Cyrano.     Who  cares  ? 
Le  Bret. 

This  paper — but  it  is  of  great  importance!  .  .  . 
They  say  it  will  be  an  immense  success! 
K  Poet  [advancing].     Sir  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     What,  another! 
The  Poet.  .  .  .  Pray  permit  I  make 

A  pentacrostic  on  your  name  .  .  . 
Some  One  [also  advancing'].     Pray,  Sir  .  .  . 
Cyrano.  Enough!  enough! 

[A  movement  in  the  crowd.  De  Guiche  appears., 
escorted  by  officers.  Cuigy,  Brissaille,  the  Of- 
ficers who  went  with  Cyrano  the  night  before. 
Cuigy  comes  rapidly  up  to  Cyrano.] 

Cuigy  [to  Cyrano].  Here  is  Monsieur  de  Guiche! 

[A  murmur — every  one  makes  way.] 

He  comes  from  the  Marshal  of  Gassion! 
De  Guiche  [bowing  to  Cyrano]. 

.  .  .  Who  would  express  his  admiration,  Sir, 

For  your  new  exploit  noised  so  loud  abroad. 
The  Crowd.     Bravo! 
Cyrano  [bowing]. 

The  Marshal  is  a  judge  of  valor. 
De  Guiche. 

He  could  not  have  believed  the  thing,  unlew 

These  gentlemen  had  sworn  they  witnessed  it. 
Cuigy.     With  our  own  eyes! 
Le  Bret  [aside  to  Cyrano,  who  has  an  absent  aw\. 

But  .  .  .  you  .  .  . 
Cyrano.    HushI 


CYRANO  DE  BEROERAC.  Tl 

Le  Bret.     But  .  .  .     You  suffer? 
Cyrano  [starting^ 

Before  this  rabble  ?—    I  ?  .  .  . 
[He  draws  himself  up,  twirls  hU  mustache,  and  throiM 
back  his  shoulders.] 
Wait!  .  .   .     You  shall  seel 
De  GtJiCHE  [to  whom  Cuigy  ?ias  spoken  in  a  low  «oftf#]. 

In  feats  of  arms,  already  your  career 

Abounded. — You  serve  with  those  "crazy  pAt«B 

Of  Gascons  ? 
Cyrano.     Ay,  with  the  Cadets. 
A  Cadet  [in  a  terrible  voice].     With  us! 
De  Guiche   [looking  at  the  Cadets,   ranged   b^ind 

Cyrano]. 

Ah!  .  .  .     All  these  gentlemen  of  haughty  mien, 

Are  they  the  fanaous?  .  .  . 
Carbon.     Cyrano! 
Cyrano.     Ay,  Captain! 
Carbon. 

Since  all  my  company's  assembled  here, 

Pray  favor  me, — present  them  to  my  lord! 
Cyrano  [making  two  steps  toivard  De  Guiche]. 

My  Lord  de  Guiche,  permit  that  I  present — 
[Pointing  to  the  Cadets.  J 

The  bold  Cadets  of  Gascony, 

Of  Carbon  of  Castel-Jaloux! 

Brawling  and  swaggering  boastfully, 

The  bold  Cadets  of  Gascony! 

Spouting  of  Armory,  Heraldry, 

Their  veins  a-brimming  with  blood  so  blu«. 

The  bold  Cadets  of  Gascony, 

Of  Carbon  of  Castel-Jaloux: 


P  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAC. 

Eagle-eye,  and  spindle-shanks, 
Fierce  mustache,  and  wolfish  tooth! 
Slash-the-rabble  and  scatter- their-ranks; 
JEagle-eye,  and  spindle-shanks, 
With  a  flaming  feather  that  gayly  pranks, 
Hiding  the  holes  in  their  hats,  forsooth! 
Eagle-eye,  and  spindle-shanks, 
Fierce  mustache,  and  wolfish  tooth! 

^'Pink-your-Doublet,"  and  "Slit-your-Trunk" 
Are  their  gentlest  sobriquets; 
"With  Fame  and  Glory  their  soul  is  drunk! 
-''Pink-your-Doublet"  and  "Slit-your-Trunk," 
In  brawl  and  skirmish  they  show  their  spunk, 
•Give  rendezvous  in  broil  and  fray; 
-^'Pink-your-Donblet"  and  "^lit-your-Trunk" 
Are  their  gentlest  sobriquets! 

"What,  ho!    Cadets  of  Gascony! 

All  jealous  lovers  are  sport  for  you! 

O  Woman!  dear  divinity! 

What,  ho!    Cadets  of  Gascony! 

Whom  scowling  husbands  quake  to  see. 

Blow,  "tararara,"  and  cry  "Cuckoo." 

What,  ho!    Cadets  of  Gascony! 

Husbands  and  lovers  are  game  for  you! 
De  Guiohe   [seated  with   haughty  carelessn^s  in  an 

armchair  brought  quickly  by  Ragueneau]. 

A  poet!    'Tis  the  fashion  of  the  hour! 

— Will  you  be  mine  ? 
Oyrano.     No,  Sir,— no  man's! 
Dk  Guiche.  Last  night 

Your  fancy  pleased  my  lancle  Richelieu. 


CYRANO  DE  BERGERAC.  73 

ni  gladly  saj  a  word  to  him  for  you. 
Le  Bret  [ooerjoyed].     Great  Heavens! 
De  Guiche.  I  imagine  you  have  rhymed 

Five  acts,  or  so? 
Le  Bret  [in  Cyrano's  ear']. 

Your  play!— your  "Agrippine!" 

You'll  see  it  staged  at  last! 
De  Guiche,     Take  them  to  him. 
Cyrano  [beginning  to  he  tempted  and  attracted]. 

In  sooth, — I  would  .  .  . 
Db  Guiche.  He  is  a  critic  skilled: 

He  may  correct  a  line  or  two,  at  most. 
Cyrano  [whose  face  stiffens  at  once]. 

Impossible!     My  blood  congeals  to  think 

That  other  hand  should  change  a  comma's  dot. 
De  Guiche. 

But  when  a  verse  approves  itself  to  him 

He  pays  it  dear,  good  friend. 
Cyrano.  He  pays  less  dear 

Than  I  myself;  when  a  verse  pleases  me, 

I  pay  myself,  and  sing  it  to  myself! 
De  Guiche.     You  are  proud. 
Cyrano.     Really?    You  have  noticed  that? 
A  Cadet   [entering,   with    a    string  of  old    battered 

plumed  beaver  hats,  fall  of  holes ^  slung  on  his 

sword]. 

See,  Cyrano, — this  morning,  on  the  quay 

What  strange  bright-feathered  game  we  caught! 

The  hats  o'  the  fugitives  .  .  . 
Carbon.     ^' Spolia  opima  .-"' 
All  [laughing].     Ah!  ah!  ah! 
Cukjy.     He  who  laid  that  ambush,  'faith! 


74  CYRANO  DE  BER&ERAG. 

Must  curse  and  swear! 
Brissaille.     Who  was  it? 
De  Guiche.  I  mys#lf. 

[The  laughter  stops. '[ 

I  charged  them— work  too  dirty  for  my  sword, 

To  punish  and  chastise  a  rhymster  sot. 
[  CoTistrained  silence.  ] 
The  Oadkt  [in  a  low  voice,  to  Cyrano,  showing  him  the 

beavers].     What  do  with  them?     They're   full  of 

grease!— a  stew? 
Cyrano  [taking  the  sword  and,  with  a  salute,  dropping 

the  hats  at  De  GuiCHE's/ee^]. 

Sir,  pray  be  good  enough  to  render  them 

Back  to  your  friends. 
De  Guiche  [rising  sharply] . 

My  chair  there— quick!— I  gol 
[To  Cyrano,  passionately.] 

As  to  you,  sirrah!  .  .  . 
Voice  [in  the  street].    Porters   for  my   lord  De  Guiche! 
De  Guiche  [who  has  controlled  himself,  smiling]. 

Have  you  read  ' '  Don  Quixote  ?" 
Cyrano.  I  have! 

And  doff  my  hat  at  th'  mad  knight-errant's  name. 
De  Guiche.  I  counsel  you  to  study  .   .  . 

A  Porter  [appearing  at  bach].     My  lord's  chairt 
De  Guiche.  .  .  .  The  windmill  chapter! 

Cyrano  [bowing].     Chapter  the  thirteenth. 
De  Guiche.     For   when   one  tilts  'gainst  windmills— it 

may  chance  .    .  . 
Cyrano. 

Tilt  I  'gainst  those  who  change  with  every  breezd? 
De  Guiche.     .  .  .  That  windmill  sails  may  sweep  yon 

with  their  arm  down — in  the  mire!  .  .  . 


CYRANO  DE  BERGERAC.  75' 

Qt&jlho.     Or  upward— to  the  stars! 

[De  Guiche  goes  out,  and  moicnts  into  his  ehair.  The 
other  lords  go  away  whispering  together.  Li 
Bret  goes  to  the  door  with  them.  The  crowd 
disperses.  ] 

SCENE  VIII. 

Cyrano,  Le  Bret,  the  Cadets,  who  are  eating  and 
drinking  at  the  tables  JR.  and  L. 

Cyrano  [bowing  mockingly  to  those  who  go  out  without 
daring  to  salute  him\ 

Gentlemen  .  .  .     Gentlemen  .  .  . 
Le  Bret  [coming  back,  despairingly]. 

Here's  a  fine  coil! 
Cyrano.     Oh!  scold  away! 
Le  Bret.  At  least,  you  will  agree 

That  to  annihilate  each  chance  of  Fate 

Exaggerates  .  .    . 
Cyrano.     Yes! — I  exaggerate! 
Le  Bret  [triiimphantly].     Ah! 
Cyrano.     But  for  principle— example,  too, — 

I  think  'tis  well  thus  to  exaggerate. 
Le  Bret.     Oh!  lay  aside  that  pride  of  musketeer, 

Fortune  and  glory  wait  you!  .  .  . 
Cyrano.  Ay,  and  then?  .  .  . 

Seek  a  protector,  choose  a  patron  out. 

And  like  the  crawling  ivy  round  a  tree 

That  licks  the  bark  to  gain  the  trunk's  support, 

Climb  high  by  creeping  ruse  instead  of  force? 

No,  gram  mercy!     What!     I,  like  all  the  rest, 


76  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAG. 

Dedicate  verse  to  bankers?— play  buffoon 

In  cringing  hope  to  see,  at  last,  a  smile 

Not  disapproving,  on  a  patron's  lips? 

Grammercy,  no!    What!  learn  to  swallow  toads? 

— With  frame  aweary  climbing  stairs?— a  skin 

Grown  grimed  and  horny, — here  about  the  knees? 

And,  acrobat-like,  teach  ray  back  to  bend? — 

No,  grammercy!     Or,— double-faced  and  sly — 

Run  with  the  hare,  while  hunting  with  the  hounds; 

And,  oily-tongued,  to  win  the  oil  of  praise, 

Flatter  the  great  man  to  his  very  nose? 

No,  grammercy!     Steal  soft  from  lap  to  lap, 

— A  little  great  man  in  a  circle  small, 

Or  navigate,  with  madrigals  for  sails, 

Blown  gently  windward  by  old  ladies'  sighs? 

No,  grammercy!    Bribe  kindly  editors 

To  spread  abroad  my  verses?    Grammercy! 

Or  try  to  be  elected  as  the  pope 

Of  tavern-councils  held  by  imbeciles? 

No,  grammercy!    Toil  to  gain  reputation 

By  one  small  sonnet,  'stead  of  making  many? 

No,  grammercy!     Or  flatter  sorry  bunglers? 

Be  terrorized  by  every  prating  paper? 

Say  ceaselessly,  "  Oh,  had  I  but  the  chance 

Of  a  fair  notice  in  the  Mercury  /" 

Grammercy,  no!    Grow  pale,  fear,  calculate? 

Prefer  to  make  a  visit  to  a  rhyme? 

Seek  introductions,  draw  petitions  up? 

No,  grammercy!  and  no!  and  no  again !   But — singf 

Dream,  laugh,  go  lightly,  solitary,  free. 

With  eyes  that  look  straight  forward — fearless  voietl 

To  cock  your  beaver  just  the  way  you  choose,— 


CYRANO  BE  BERGERAC.  77 

For  "  yes  "  or  "  no"  show  fight,  or  turn  a  rhyme! 

— To  work  without  one  thought  of  gain  or  fame, 

To  realize  that  journey  to  the  moon! 

Never  to  pen  a  line  that  has  not  sprung 

Straight  from  the  heart  within.     Embracing  then 

Modesty,  say  to  oneself,  "  Good,  my  friend, 

Be  thou  content  with  flowers, — fruit, — nay,  leaves, 

But  pluck  them  from  no  garden  but  thine  own!" 

And  then,  if  glory  come  by  chance  your  way, 

To  pay  no  tribute  unto  Caesar,  none. 

But  keep  the  merit  all  your  own!     In  short. 

Disdaining  tendrils  of  the  parasite, 

To  be  content,  if  neither  oak  nor  elm — 

Not  to  mount  high,  perchance,  but  mount  alone! 

Le  Bret. 

Alone,  an  if  you  will !     But  not  with  hand 
'Gainst  every  man!     How  in  the  devil's  name 
Have  you  conceived  this  lunatic  idea. 
To  make  foes  for  yourself  at  every  turn? 

Cyrano.  By  dint  of  seeing  you  at  every  turn 

Make  friends — and  fawn  upon  your  frequent  friends 
With  mouth  wide  smiling,  slit  from  ear  to  ear! 
I  pass,  still  unsaluted,  joyfully. 
And  cry, — What,  hoi  another  enemy? 

Le  Bret.  Lunacy! 

Cyrano.  Well,  what  if  it  be  my  vice, 

My  pleasure  to  displease— to  love  men  hate  me! 
Ah,  friend  of  mine,  believe  me,  I  march  better 
'Neath  the  cross-fire  of  glances  inimical  I 
How  droll  the  stains  one  sees  on  fine-laced  doublets, 
From  gall  of  envy,  or  the  poltroon's  drivel! 
—The  enervating  friendsliip  which  infolds  you 


^  CYRANO  DE  BERGERAC. 

Is  like  an  open  laced  Italian  collar, 
Floating  around  your  neck  in  woman's  fashion; 
One  is  at  ease  thus. — but  less  proud  the  carriage! 
The  forehead,  free  from  mainstay  or  coercion, 
Bends'^here,  there,  everywhere.     But  I,  embracing 
Hatred,  she  lends, — forbidding,  stiffly  fluted, 
The  ruff's  starched  folds  that  hold  the  head  so  rigid; 
Each  enemy— another  fold— a  gopher. 
Who  adds  constraint,  and  adds  a  ray  of  glory; 
For  hatred,  like  the  ruff  worn  by  the  Spanish, 
Grips  like  a  vice,  but  frames  you  like  a  halo! 
I^  Bret  {after  a  silence, ijfaking  his  arm\. 
Speak  proud  aloud,  and  bitter! — In  my  ear 
Whisper  me  simply  this, — She  loves  thee  notl 
Oyrano  [vehemently^     Hush! 

[Christian  Tms  just  entered,  and  mingled  with  the 
Oadits,  tvho  do  not  speak  to  him  ;  he  Juis  seated 
himself  at  a  table,  where  Lise  serves  him.] 

SCENE  IX. 
Oybano,  Le  Bret,  the  Cadets,  Christian  De  Neuvil- 

LETTE. 

A  Cadet  [seated  at  a  table,  glass  in  hand].     OjTano! 

[Cyrano  turns  round.]     The  story! 
Cyrano.  In  its  time! 

[He  goes  up  on  Le  Bret's  arm.     They  talk  in  low 

voices,  ] 
The  Cadet  [rising  and  comingldown]. 

The  story  of  the  fray!     'Twill  lesson  well 
[He  stops  before  the  table  where  Christian  is  seated.] 
This  timid  young  apprentice! 


CYRANO  BE  BEBOERAC.  79 

C'BRimik's  [raising  his  head].     'Prentice!     Who? 
Another  Cadet.     This  sickly  Northern  greenhorn! 
Christian.     Sickly! 

First  Cadet  [mockingly].  Hark! 

Monsieur  de  Neuvillette,  this  in  your  ear: 
There's  somewhat  here,  one  no  more  dares  to  name, 
Than  to  say  "rope"  to  one  whose  sire  was  hangedl 
Christian.     What  may  that  be  ? 
Another  Cadet  [in  a  terrible  voice].     See  here! 
[J?e  puts  his  finger  three  times.,  inysteriously  on  his 
nose.  J 
Do  you  understand? 
Christian.     Oh!  'tis  the  .  .  . 
Another.  Hush!  oh,  never  breathe  that  word, 

Unless  you'd  reckon  with  him  yonder! 
[He points  to  Cyrano,  ivho  is  talking  with  Le  Bret.] 
Another  [ivho  has  meanwhile  come  up  noiselessly  to  sit 
on  tJie  table — whispering  behind  him]. 

Hark! 
He  put  two  snuffling  men  to  death,  in  rage, 
For  the  sole  reason  they  spoke  through  their  nose! 
Another  [i7i  a  liollow  voice.,  darting  on  all-fours  from 
undei'  the  table,  where  he  had  crept]. 
And  if  you  would  not  perish  in  flower  o'  youth, 
—Oh,  mention  not  the  fatal  cartilage! 
Another  [clapping  him  on  the  shoulder]. 
A  word?    A  gesture!    For  the  indiscreet 
His  handkerchief  may  prove  his  winding-sheet! 
[Silence.     All,  with  ci'ossed  arms,  look  at  Chribtloi. 
He  rises  and  goes  over  to  Carbon  de  Cabtsl- 
Jaloux,   who  is   talking  to  an   Officer,   and 
feigns  to  see  nothing.] 


80  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAC. 

Christian.     Captain! 

Carbon  [turning  and  looking  at  him  from  head  to 

foot].     Sir! 
Christian.  Pray,  what  skills  it  best  to  do 

To  Southerners  who  iswagger  ?  .  .  . 
Carbon.  Give  them  proof 

That  one  may  be  a  Northerner,  yet  brave! 
[He  turns  his  back  on  him.  ] 
Christian.     I  thank  you. 
First  Cadet  [to  Cyrano].     Now,  the  tale! 
All.     The  tale! 

Cyrano  [coming  toward  them] .    The  tale  ?  .  .  . 
{ATI  hring^their  stools  up,  and  group  round  him,  listen- 
ing eagerly.     Christian  is  astride  a  chair.] 

Well!  I  went  all  alone  to  meet  the  band. 

The  moon  was  shining,  clock- like,  full  i'  th'  sky. 

When,  suddenly,  some  careful  clockwright  passed 

A  cloud  of  cotton-wool  across  the  case 

That  held  this  silver  watch.     And,  presto!  heigh! 

The  night  was  inky  black,  and  all  the  quays 

Were  hidden  in  the  murky  dark.     Gadsooks! 

One  could  see  nothing  further  .  .  . 
Christian.     Than  one's  nose! 
[Silence.     All  slowly  ris«,  looking  in  terror  at  Cyrano, 

who  has  stopjjed — dumfounded.     Pause.] 
Cyrano.     Who  on  God's  earth  is  that  ? 
A  Cadet  [whispering].  It  is  a  man 

Who  joined  to-day. 
Cyrano  [making  a  step  toward  Christian].     To-day? 
Carbon  [in  a  low  voice].  Yes  .  .  .  His  name  is 

The  Baron  de  Neuvil  .  .  . 
Cyrano  [che<iking  himself].        Good!  it  is  well  .  .  . 


CYRANO  DE  BEROERAC.  81 

^e  turns  pale,  flushes,  makes  as  if  to  fall  on  Chris- 
tian.] 
I  .  .  . 

[He  controls  himself.] 
What  said  I?  .  .  .     [With  a  burst  of  rage.] 
Mordious  /    .  .  .     [Tlien  continues  calmly.] 
That  it  was  dark. 
[Astonishment.     The  Cadets  reseat  themselves,  staring 
atlilm.] 
On  I  went,. thinking,  ''For  a  knavish  cause 
I  may  provoke  some  great  man,  some  great  prince, 
Who  certainly  could  break  ..." 
Christian.     My  nose!  .  .  . 
[Every  one  starts  up.    Christian  balances  on  his  chair.] 

Cyrano  [^?^  a  choked  voice].  .  .  .   "My  teeth! 

Who  would  break  my  teeth,  and  I,  imprudent-like, 

Was  poking  ..." 
Christian.     My  nose!  .  .  . 
Cyrano.  ' '  My  finger,  ...  in  the  crack 

Between  the  tree  and  bark!     He  may  prove  strong 

And  rap  me  .  .  ." 
Christian.    Over  the  nose  .  .  . 
Cyrano  [wiping  his  forehead]. 

.  .  .   "O'  th'  knuckles!     Ay," 

But  I  cried,  "Forward,  Gascon!    Duty  calls! 

On,  Cyrano!"     And  thus  I  ventured  on  .  .  . 

When,  from  the  shadow,  came  .  .  . 
Christian.     A  crack  o'  th'  nose. 
Cyrano.     I  parry  it— find  myself  .  .  . 
Christian.    Nose  to  nose.  .  .  . 
Cyrano  [bounding  on  to  him].       Heayen  and  earth! 


82  CYRANO  BE  BERGEBAC. 

[All  the  Gascons  leap  up  to  see,  but  when  he  is  dose  to 
Christian  he  controls  himself  and  continues.  ] 
.  .  .  With  a  hundred  brawling  sots, 
"Who  stank  .  .   . 

Christian.     Anoseful  .  .  . 

Cyrano  [white  hut  smiling^.      Onions,  brandy-cups  I 
I  leapt  out,  head  well  down  .  .  . 

Christian.     Nosing  the  wind! 

Cyrano. 

I  charge! — gore  two,  impale  one— run  him  through, 
One  aims  at  me— Paf !  and  I  parry  .  .  . 

Christian.     Pif! 

Cyrano  [bursting  out\     Great  God!     Out!  all  of  youl 

[The  GkBWi^  rush  to  the  doors. ^ 

First  Cadet.     The  tiger  wakes! 
Cyrano. 

Every  man,  out!    Leave  me  alone  with  him! 
Second  Cadet. 

We  shall  find  him  minced  fine,  minced  into  hash 

In  a  big  pasty  1 
Ragueneau.  I  am  turning  pale, 

And  curl  up,  like  a  napkin,  limp  and  white! 
Carbon.     Let  us  be  gone. 
Another.     He  will  not  leave  a  crumb! 
Another.     I  die  of  fright  to  think  what  will  pass  hereH 
Another  [shutting  door  R.].     Something  too  horrible^ 

[All  have  gone  out  by  different  doors,  some  by  the 
staircase.  Cyrano  and  Christian  are  face  1m 
face,  looking  at  each  other  for  a  moment.  ] 


CTRAIiO  DE  BERGERAC.  8S 

•CENF,  X. 
GyRi.No,  Chrmtian. 

Cyrano.     Embrace  me  now! 

Christian.     Sir  .  .  . 

Cyrano.     You  are  brave. 

Christian.     Oh!  but  .  .  . 

Cyrano.     Nay,  I  insist. 

Christian.     Pray  tell  me 

Cyrano.     Come,  embrace!    I  am  her  brofcker. 

Christian.     Whose  brother? 

Cyrano.     Hers,  i'  faith!    Roxane's! 

Christian  [rushing  np  to  Mm].     O  heavens! 

Her  brother  .  .  .  ? 
Cyrano.     Cousin-brother!  ...  the  same  thing! 
Christian.     And  she  has  told  you  .  .  .  ? 
Cyrano.     All! 

Christian.     She  loves  me?  say! 
Cyrano.     Maybe! 
Christian  [taking  his  hands]. 

How  glad  I  am  to  meet  you.  Sir! 
Cyrano.     That  may  be  called  a  sudden  sentiment! 
Christian.     I  ask  your  pardon  .  .  . 
Cyrano  [looking  at  him,  with  his  hand  on  his  sh&td' 

der].     True,  he's  fair,  the  villain! 
Christian. 

Ah,  Sir!    If  you  but  knew  my  admiration!  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     But  all  those  noaes?  .  .  . 
Christian.     Oh!  I  take  them  back! 
Cyrano.     Roxane  expects  a  letter. 
Christian.     Woe  the  day! 


84  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAG. 

Cyrano.    How? 

Christian.     I  am  lost  if  I  but  ope  my  lips! 

Cyrano.     Why  so? 

Christian.     I  am  a  fool — could  die  for  shame! 

Cyrano.     None  is  a  fool  who  knows  himself  a  fool. 

And  you  did  not  attack  me  like  a  fool. 
Christian. 

Bah!    One  finds  battle-cry  to  lead  th'  assault! 

I  have  a  certain  military  wit, 

But,  before  women,  can  but  hold  my  tongue. 

Their  eyes!    True,    when  I   pass,    their  eyes   are 
kind  .  .  . 
Cyrano. 

And,  when  you  stay,  their  hearts,  methinks,  are 
kinder? 
Christian. 

No!  for  I  am  one  of  those  men — tongue-tied, 

I  know  it — who  can  never  tell  their  love. 
Cyrano. 

And  I,  meseems,  had  Nature  been  more  kind. 

More  careful,  when  she  fashioned  me, — had  been 

One  of  those  men  who  well  could  speak  their  love! 
Christian. 

Oh,  to  express  one's  thoughts  with  facile  grace!  .  .  . 
Cyrano. 

.  .  .  To  be  a  musketeer,  with  handsome  face! 
Christian.     Roxane  isjpredez^se.     I'm  sure  to  prove 

A  disappointment  to  her! 
Cyrano  [looking  at  him].    Had  I  but 

Such  an  interpreter  to  speak  my  soul ! 
Christian  [loith  despair]. 

Eloquence!    Where  to  find  it? 


CYRANO  BE  BERGERAC.  85 

Cyrano  [ahruptly].  That  I  lend, 

If  you  lend  me  your  handsome  victor-charms; 

Blended,  we  make  a  hero  of  romance! 
Christian.     How  so? 
Cyrano.     Think  you  you  can  repeat  what  things 

I  daily  teach  your  tongue?  .   .  . 
Christian.     What  do  you  mean?  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     Roxane  shall  never  have  a  disillusion! 

Say,  wilt  thou  that  we  woo  her,  double-handed? 

Wilt  thou  that  we  two  woo  her,  both  together  ? 

Feel'st  thou,  passing  from  my  leather  doublet, 

Through  thy  laced  doublet,  all  my  soul  inspiring? 
Christian-    But,  Cyrano!  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     Will  you,  I  say  ? 
Christian.    I  fear! 
Cyrano. 

Since,  by  yourself,  you  fear  to  chill  her  heart, 

Will  you— to  kindle  all  her  heart  to  flame — 

Wed  into  one  my  phrases  and  your  lips  ? 
Christian.     Your  eyes  flash! 
Cyrano.     Will  you  ? 
Christian.  Will  it  please  you  so  ? 

— Give  you  such  pleasure  ? 
Cyrano  [madly].     It!  .  .  . 

[Then  calmly^  business-like.] 

It  would  amuse  me! 

It  is  an  enterprise  to  tempt  a  poet. 

Will  you  complete  me,  and  let  me  complete  you  ? 

You  march  victorious,    I  go  in  your  shadow; 

Let  me  be  wit  for  you,  be  you  my  beauty! 
Christian. 

The  letter,  that  she  waits  for  even  now! 

I  never  can  ... 


86  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAG. 

Cyrano  [taking  out  the  letter  he  had  ivritten']. 

See!    Here  it  is — your  letter! 
Christian.    What  ? 

Cyrano.     Take  it!    Look,  it  wants  but  the  address. 
Christian.     But  I  .  .  . 

Cyrano.     Fear  nothing.     Send  it.     It  will  suit. 
Christian.     But  have  you  .  .  .  ? 
Cyrano.     Oh'  we  have  our  pockets  full, 

"We  poets,  of  love-letters,  writ  to  Chloes, 

Daphnes — creations  of  our  uoddle-heads. 

Our  lady-loves, — phantasms  of  our  brains, 

— Dream-fancies  blown  into  soap-bubbles!    Come* 

Take  it,  and  change  feigned  love-words  into  true; 

I  breathed  my  sighs  and  moans  haphazard- wise; 

Call  all  these  wandering  love-birds  home  to  nest. 

You'll  see  that  I  was  in  these  lettered  lines, 

— Eloquent  all  the  more,  the  less  sincere! 

— Take  it,  and  make  an  end! 
Christian.  Were  it  not  well 

To  change  some  words  ?    Written  haphazard- wise, 

Will  it  fit  Roxane  ? 
Cyrano.     'Twill  fit  like  a  glove! 
Christian.     But  .  .  . 
Cyrano.  Ah,  credulity  of  love!    Roxane 

Will  think  each  word  inspired  by  herself! 
Christian.     My  friend!  • 

[Me  throws  himself  into  Cyrano's  arms.    They  remain 
thus.] 


CYRANO  BE  BERQERAC.  87 

SCENE  XI. 
Cyrano,  Christian,  tJie  Gascons,  the  Muskktbkr,  Lise. 

A  Cadet  [half  opening  the  door]. 

Naught  here!  .  .  .     The  silence  of  the  grave! 
I  dare  not  look  .  .  . 

[He puts  his  head  in.] 
Why?  .  .  . 
All  the  Cadets   [entering^  and  seeing  Ctrano  and 
Christian  embracing].     " 
Oh!  .  .  . 
A  Cadet.     This  passes  all! 

[Consternation.'] 
The  Musketeer  [mockingly].     Ho,  ho!  .  .  . 
Carbon.  A  demon  has  become  a  saint? 

Struck  on  one  nostril— lo I  he  turns  the  other! 
Mt^sketeer. 

Then  we  may  speak  about  his  nose,  henceforth!  .  .  . 

[Calling  to  Lise  b&astftdly.] 
— Ah,  Lise,  see  here! 

[Sniffing  ostentatiously.^ 
O  heavens!  .   .  .  what  a  stink!  .  .  . 

[Going  up  to  Cyrano.] 
You,  sir,  without  a  doubt  have  sniffed  it  up! 
— What  is  the  smell  I  notice  here  ? 
Cyrano  [cuffing  his  head].     Clove -heads. 
[General  delight.     The  Cadets  have  found  the  old  Cy- 
rano o^am.     Hiey  turn  somersaults.^ 

Curtain. 


88  erBAN(y  DE  BERQERAC. 


ACT  III. 
Roxane's  Kiss. 

A  small  square  in  the  old  Marais.  Old  houses.  A  per- 
spective of  little  streets.  On  the  right  Roxane's 
house  and  the  wall  of  her  garden  overhung  with 
thick  foliage.  Window  and  balcony  over  the  door. 
A  bench  in  front. 

From  the  bench  and  the  stones  jutting  out  of  the  wall 
it  is  easy  to  climb  to  the  balcony.  In  front  an  old 
house  in  the  same  style  of  brick  and  stone.  The 
knocker  of  this  door  is  bandaged  with  linen  like  a 
sore  thumb. 

At  the  rising  of  the  curtain  the  Duenna  is  seated  on 
the  bench. 

The  window  on  Roxane's  balcony  is  wide  open. 

Ragueneau  is  standing  near  the  door  in  a  sort  of  livery. 
He  has  just  finished  relating  something  to  the 
Duenna,  and  is  wiping  his  eyes. 

SCENE  I. 

Ra©ueneau,  tJie  Duenna.  Then  Roxane,  Cyrano,  and 
two  Pages. 

Rasuenbau.  —And  then,  off  she  went,  with  a  mus- 
keteer! Deserted  and  ruined,  too,  I  would  make 
an  end  of  all,  and  so  hanged  myself.    My  last 


CYRANO  DE  BEROERAC.  89 

breath  was  drawn:— then  in  oomei  Monsieur  de 
Bergerac!  He  cuts  me  down,  and  begs  his  cousin  to 
take  me  for  her  steward. 

The  Duenna.  Well,  but  how  came  it  about  that  you 
were  thus  ruined  ? 

Ragueneau.  Oh!  Lise  loved  the  warriors,  and  I  loved 
the  poets!  What  cakes  there  were  that  Apollo 
chanced  to  leave  were  quickly  snapped  up  by  Mars. 
— Thus  ruin  was  not  long  a-coming. 

The  Duenna  [rising,  and  calling  up  to  the  open  win- 
dow].    Roxane,  are  you  ready?    They  wait  for  us! 

Roxane's  Voice  [from  the  windo'w].  I  will  but  put 
me  on  a  cloak. 

The  Duenna  [to  Ragueneau,  showing  him  the  door 
opposite].  They  wait  us  there  opposite,  at  Clo- 
mire's  house.  She  receives  them  all  there  to-day — 
the  precieuses,  the  poets;  they  read  a  discourse  on 
the  Tender  Passion. 

Ragueneau.     The  Tender  Passion  ? 

The  Duenna  [in  a  mincing  voice].  Ay,  indeed!  [Call- 
ing up  to  the  window.  ]  Roxane,  an  you  come  not 
down  quickly,  we  shall  miss  the  discourse  on  the 
Tender  Passion! 

Roxane's  Voice.     I  come.  I  come! 

[A  sound  of  stringed  instruments  approaching.] 

Cyrano's  Voice  [behind  the  scenes,  singing].  La,  la, 
la,  la! 

The  Duenna  [surprised].     They  serenade  us? 

Cyrano  \followed  by  two  Pages,  with,  arch-lutes],  I 
tell  you  they  are  denii-semi-quavers,  demi-semi- 
fool! 

First  Page   [ironically].     You  know,  then,  Sir,  to  dis- 


90  CYRANO  DE  BERGEBAC. 

tingnish    between    semi-quavers    and    demi-semi- 

quavers  ? 
Cyrano.     Is  not  every  disciple  of  Gassendi  a  musician  ? 
The  Page  \playing  and  singing].     La,  la! 
Cyrano   {snatching  the  lute  from  him,  and  going  on 

with  the  phrase]. 
In  proof  of  which,  I  can  continue!    La,  la,  la,  la. 
KoxANE  [appearing  on  the  balcony].    What  ?     'Tis  you  ? 
Cyrano   [going  on  with  the  air,  and  singing  to  it]. 

'Tis  I,  who  come  to  serenade  your  lilies,  and  pay 

my  devoir  to  your  ro — o — oses! 
KoxANE,     I  am  coming  down! 

[She  leaves  the  balcony.] 

The  Duenna  [pointing  to  the  Pages]. 
How  come  these  two  virtuosi  here? 

Cyrano,  'Tis  for  a  wager  I  won  of  D'Assoucy.  We 
were  disputing  a  nice  point  in  grammar;  contra- 
dictions raged  hotly — "'Tis  so!'*  " Nay, 'tis  so!" 
when  suddenly  he  shows  me  these  two  long-shanks., 
whom  he  takes  about  with  him  as  an  escort,  and 
who  are  skillful  in  scratching  lute-strings  with 
their  skinny  claws!  "I  will  wager  you  a  days 
music,"  says  he! — And  lost  it!  Thus,  see  you,  till 
Phoebus'  chariot  starts  once  again,  these  lute 
twangers  are  at  my  heels,  seeing  all  I  do,  hearing 
all  I  say,  and  accompanying  all  with  melody! 
'Twas  pleasant  at  the  first,  but  i'  faith,  1  begin  to 
weary  of  it  already! 

[To  the  Musicians.] 

Ho  there!    go  serenade   Montfleury  for  me!    Play  a 

dance  to  him! 


CYRANO  BE  BERQERAC.  91 

[The  Pages  go  toward  the  door.     To  the  Duenna.] 
I  have  come,  as  is  my  wont,  uightly,  to  ask  Rox- 
ane  whether  .  .  . 

[To  the  Pages,  w?io  are  going  out.] 
Play  a  long  time, — and  play  out  of  tune! 
[To  f7<e  Duenna.  J 
.  .   .  Whether  her  soul's  elected  is  ever  the  same, 
ever  faultless! 
RoxANE  [commg  out  of  the  house].     Ah!     How  hand- 
some he  is,  how  brilliant  a  wit!     And — how  well  I 
love  him! 
Cyrano  [smiling].     Christian  has  so  brilliant  a  wit? 
RoxANE.     Brighter  than  even  your  own,  cousin! 
Cyrano.     Be  it  so,  with  all  my  heart! 
RoxANE.     Ah!  methinks  'twere  impossible  that  there 
could  breathe  a  man  on  this  earth  skilled  to  say  so 
sweetly  as  he  all  the  pretty  nothings  that  mean  so 
much — that  mean  all!     At  times  his  mind  seems 
far  away,  the  Muse  says  naught — and  then,  presto! 
he  speaks — bewitchingly!  enchantingly! 
Cyrano  [incredulously].     No,  no! 
RoxANE.     Fie!     That  is  ill  said!    But  lo!  men  are  ever 
thus!     Because  he  is  fair  to  see,  you  would  have  it 
that  he  must  be  dull  of  speech. 
Cyrano. 

He  hath  an  eloquent  tongue  in  telling  his  love? 
Roxane.     In  telling  his  love?  why,  'tis  not  simple  tell- 
ing, 'tis  dissertation,  'tis  analysis! 
Cyrano.     How  is  he  with  the  pen? 
Roxane.     Still  better!     Listen, — here:—     [Eeeiting.] 
"The  more  of  my  poor  heart  you  take, 
The  larger  grows  my  heart!" 


92  CTMANO  BE  BERGERAG. 

[Triumphantly  to  Cyrano.] 
How  like  you  those  lines? 
Cyrano.    Pooh! 
RoxANE.     And  thus  it  goes  on  .  .  . 

"And,  since  some  target  I  must  show 
For  Cupid's  cruel  dart, 
Oh,  if  mine  own  you  deign  to  keep. 
Then  give  me  your  sweet  heart!" 
Cyrano.    Lord!    first  he  has  too  much,  then  anon  not 

enough!    How  much  heart  does  the  fellow  want? 
Roxane. 

You  would  vex  a  saint!  .  .  .    But 'tis  your  jealousy. 
Cyrano  [starting].     What  mean  you? 
Roxane.     Ay,  your  poet's  jealousy!    Hark  now,  if  this 
again  be  not  tender-sweet? — 

"  My  heart  to  yours  sends  but  one  cry:  , 
If  kisses  fast  could  flee 
By  letter,  then  with  your  sweet  lips 

My  letters  read  should  be! 
If  kisses  could  be  writ  with  ink, 
If  kisses  fast  could  flee!" 
Cyrano  [smiling  approvingly  in  spite  of  himself.] 
Ha!  those  last  lines  are,— hm!  .  .  .  hm!  .  .  . 

[ Correcting  himself— contemptuously]. 
— They  are  paltry  enough! 
Roxane.     And  this  ...  * 

Cyrano  [enchanted]. 

Then  you  have  his  letters  by  heart? 
Roxane.     Every  one  of  them! 
Cyrano. 

By  all  the  oaths  that  can  be  sworn, — 'tis  flattering! 
Roxane.     They  are  the  lines  of  a  master! 


CVBANO  J)E  BERG KR AC.  93 

Cyrano  [modesUy].     Come,  nay  ...  a  master?  .  .  . 

RoxANE.     Ay,  I  say  it— a  master! 

Cyrano.     Good — be  it  so. 

The  Duenna  [coming  doicn  qmcklt/.] 
Here  comes  Monsieur  de  Guiche! 
[To  Cyrano,  pushing  him  towards  the  house.] 

In  with  you!  'twere  best  be  see  you  not;  it  might 
perchance  put  him  on  the  scent  .   .  . 

RoxANE  [to  Cyrano].  Ay,  of  my  own  oear  secret!  He 
loves  me,  and  is  powerful,  and,  if  he  knew,  then 
all  were  lost!  Marry!  he  could  well  deal  a  death- 
blow to  my  love! 

Cyrano  [entering  the  Jiouse].     Good!  good! 
[De  Guiche  appears.] 


SCENE   II. 

RoxANE,  De  Guiche,  the  Duenna  standing  a  little  way 

of. 
RoxANE  [courtesying  ^0  De  Guiche].     I  was  going  out. 
De  Guiche.     I  come  to  take  my  leave. 
Roxane.     Whither  go  you? 
De  Guiche.     To  the  war. 
Roxane.    Ah! 
De  Guiche.     Ay,  to-night. 
Roxane.     Oh! 
De  Guiche. 

I  am  ordered  away.     We  are  to  besiege  Arras. 
Roxane.     Ah— to  besiege?  .  .  . 

De  Guiche.     Ay.     My  going  moves  you  not,  meseems. 
Roxane.     Nay  .  .  . 
De  Guiche.     I   am    grieved   to  the  core  of  the  heart. 


94  CYRANO  DE  BERGERAC. 

Shall  I  again  behold  you?  .  .  .     WIibu?    I  kn^w 
not.     Heard  you  that  I  am  named  commander? ... 

EoxANE  [indifferently"\.     Bravo! 

De  Guiche.     Of  the  Guards  regiment. 

EoxANE  [startled].     What!  the  Guards? 

De  Guiche.  Ay,  where  serves  your  cousin,  the  swag- 
gering boaster.  I  will  find  a  way  to  revenge  my- 
self on  him  at  Arras. 

RoxANE  [choking]. 

What  mean  you?    The  Guards  go  to  Arras? 

De  Guiche  [laughing]. 

Bethink  you,  is"it  not  my  own  regiment? 

RoxANE  [falling  seated  on  the  bench — a^ide]. 
Christian! 

De  Guiche.     What  ails  you? 

RoxANE  [moved  deeply].  Oh — I  am  in  despair!  Tjhe 
man  one  loves! — at  the  war! 

De  Guiche  [surprised  and  delighted]. 

You  say  such  sweet  words  to  mel     'lis  the  first 
time! — and  just  when  I  must  quit  you! 

EoxANE  [collected,  and  fanning  herself].  Thus, — you 
would  fain  revenge  your  grudge  against  my  cousin? 

De  Guiche.     My  fair  lady  is  on  his  side? 

Roxane.     Nay, — against  him! 

De  Guiche.     Do  you  see  him  often? 

Roxane.     But  very  rarely. 

De  Guiche.  He  is  ever  to  be  met  now  in  ceaipaHy  witk 
one  of  the  cadets,  .  .  .  one  New — yillen — viller 

Roxane.     Of  high  stature? 

De  Guiche.     Fair-haired? 

R«xane.     Ay,  a  red -headed  fellow! 

De  Guiche.     Handsome!  .  .  . 


CYRANO  DE  BEROBRACk  (^ 

ROIANE.      Tut! 

De  Guiche.     But  dull-witted. 

RoxANE.  One  would  think  so,  to  look  at  him!  [Chang- 
ing her  tone.]  How  mean  you  to  play  your 
revenge  on  Cyrano?  Perchance  you  think  to  put 
him  i'  the  thick  of  the  shots?  Nay,  believe  me, 
that  were  a  poor  vengeance— he  would  love  such  a 
post  better  than  aught  else!  I  know  the  way  to 
wound  his  pride  far  more  keenly ! 

De  Guiche.     What  then?  tell  ... 

RoxANE.  If,  when  the  regiment  march  to  Arras,  he 
were  left  here  with  his  beloved  boon  companions, 
the  Cadets,  to  sit  with  crossed  arms  so  long  as  the 
war  lasted!  There  is  your  method,  would  you 
enrage  a  man  of  his  kind;  cheat  him  of  his  chance 
of  mortal  danger,  and  you  punish  him  right  fiercely. 

Dy.Qvic^y,  [coming  nearer\  O  woman!  woman!  Who 
but  a  woman  had  e'er  devised  so  subtle  a  trick? 

RoxANE.  See  you  not  how  he  will  eat  out  his  heart, 
while  his  friends  gnaw  their  thick  fists  for  that 
they  are  deprived  of  the  battle?  So  are  you  best 
avenged. 

De  Guiche.  You  love  me,  then,  a  little?  [She  smiles.] 
I  would  fain— seeing  you  thus  espouse  my  cause, 
Roxane— believe  it  a  proof  of  love! 

RoxANE.     'Tis  a  proof  of  love! 

De  Guiche  [showing  some  sealed  papers']. 

Here  are  the  marching  orders;  they  will  be  sent 
instantly  to  each  company — except —  [He  detaches 
one.]  —This  one!  'Tis  that  of  the  Cadets.  [He 
puts  it  in  his  pocket.]  This  I  keep.  [Laughing.] 
Ha!    ha!    ha!     Cyrano!     His  love  of  battle!  .  .  . 


96  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAC. 

So  you  can  play  tricks  on  people?  .  .  .  you.  of  all 
ladies! 

KoxANE.     Sometimes! 

De  Guiche  [coming  close  to  he?']. 

Oh!  how  I  love  you! — to  distraction!  Listen!  To- 
night— true,  I  ought  to  start — but — how  leave  you 
now  that  I  feel  your  heart  is  touched !— Listen !  Hard 
by,  in  the  Rue  d' Orleans,  is  a  convent  founded  by 
Father  Athanasius,  the  syndic  of  the  Capuchins. 
True  that  no  layman  may  enter — but — I  can  settle 
that  with  the  good  Fathers! — Their  habit-sleeves 
are  wide  enough  to  hide  me  in.  'Tis  they  who 
serve  Richelieu's  private  chapel:  and  from  respect 
to  the  uncle,  fear  the  nephew.  All  will  deem  me 
gone.  I  will  come  to  you,  masked.  Give  me 
leave  to  wait  till  to-morrow,  sweet  Lady  Fanciful! 

RoxANE.     But,  if  this  be  rumored,  your  glory  .  .  . 

De  Guiche.     Bah! 

RoxANE,     But  the  siege — Arras  .  .   . 

De  Guiche. 

'Twill  take  its  chance.     Grant  but  permission. 

ROXANE.      No! 

De  Guiche.     Give  me  leave! 

RoxANE  [tenderly].     It  were  my  duty  to  forbid  you! 

De  Guiche.    Ah! 

Roxane.     You  must  go!      [Aside.]      Christian  stays 

here.      [Aloud.]      I    would    have    you    heroic— 

Antoine! 
De  Guiche. 

O  heavenly  word!    You  love,  then,  him?  .  .  . 
Roxane.     .  .  .  For  whom  I  trembled. 


CYRANO  BE  BERGERAC.  97 

Pe  Guiche  [in  an  ecstasy].  Ah!  I  go  tkonl  [Re  kisses 
her  hand.]     Are  you  content? 

RoxANE.     Yes,  my  friend! 

[He  goes  out.  ] 

The  Duenna  [making  behind  his  hack  a  mocking  cour- 
tesy].    Yes,  my  friend! 

RoxANE  [to  the  Duenna].  Not  a  word  of  what  I  have 
done.  Cyrano  would  never  pardon  me  for  stealing 
his  fighting  from  him!  [She  calls  toward  the 
house.]     Cousin! 


SCENE   III. 

RoxANE,  Duenna,  Cyrano. 
We  are  going  to  Clomire's  house.     [She  points  t0 
door    opposite.]     Alcandre    and    Lysimon   are   to 
discourse ! 
The  Duenna  [putting  her  little  Jinger  in  her  ear]. 

Yes!    But  my  little  finger  tells  me  we  shall  miss 
them. 
Cyrano.    'Twere  a  pity  to  miss  such  apes ! 

[They  have  come  to  Clomire's  door.] 
The  Duenna.     Oh,  see!     The  knocker  is  muffled  up! 
[Speaking  to  the  knocker.  ] 
So  they  have  gagged  that  metal  tongue  of  yours, 
little  noisy  one,   lest  it  should  disturb   the  fine 
orators! 
[She  lifts  it  carefully  and  knocks  toith precaution,] 
RoxANE  [seeing  that  the  door  opens]. 

Let  us  enter!  [On  the  threshold^  to  Cyrano.]  If 
Christian  comes,  as  I  feel  sure  he  will,  bid  him 
wait  for  me! 


98  CYRANO  BE  BERBEBAG. 

Cyrano  [quickly,  as  she  is  going  in].  Listen!  [She 
Uirns.]  What  mean  you  to  question  him  on,  as  is 
your  wont,  to-night? 

KOXANE.      Oh— 

Cyrano  [eagerly].     Well,  say. 

RoxANE.     But  you  will  be  mute? 

Cyrano.     Mute  as  a  fish. 

RoxANE.  I  shall  not  question  him  at  all,  but  say  :  Give 
rein  to  your  fancy!  Prepare  not  your  speeches, — 
but  speak  the  thoughts  as  they  come!  Speak  to  me- 
of  love,  and  speak  splendidly! 

Cyrano   [smiling].     Very  good! 

RoxANE.     But  secret!  .   .  . 

Cyrano.     Secret. 

RoxANE.     Not  a  word! 

[She  enters  and  shuts  the  door.] 

Cyrano  [when  the  door  is  shut,  bowing  to  hdr]. 

A  thousand  thanks! 
[The  dooroj)ens  again,  ajid  'RoxAHEputs  her  head  out.] 
Roxane.     Lest  he  prepare  himself! 
Cyrano.     The  devil!— no,  no! 
Both  Together.     Secret. 

[The  door  shuts.] 
Cyrano  [calling].     Christian! 

SCENE  IV. 

Cyrano,  Christian. 

Cyrano. 

I  know  all  that  is  needful.     Here's  occasion 
For  you  to  deck  yourself  with  glory.     Come, 


CYRANO  BE  BERQERAC.  M 

Lese  no  time;  put  awny  those  sulky  loc^. 

Come  to  your  house  with  me,  I'll  teach  you  .  ,  . 
Christian.     No! 
Cyrano.     Why? 

Christian.     I  will  wait  for  Roxane  here. 
Cyrano.  How?  crazy? 

Come  quick  with  me  and  learn  .  .   . 
Christian.  No!  no!  I  say. 

I  am  weary  of  these  borrowed  letters, 

— Borrowed  love-makings!    Thus  to  act  a  part, 

And  tremble  all  the  time!— 'Twas  well  enough 

At  the  beginning! — Now  I  know  she  loves! 

I  fear  no  longer— I  will  speak  myself. 
Cyrano.  Mercy! 

Christian.        And  how  know  you  I  cannot  speak  ? — 

I  am  not  such  a  fool  when  all  is  said! 

I've  by  your  lessons  profited.     You'll  see 

I  shall  know  how  to  speak  alone!    The  devil! 

I  know  at  least  to  clasp  her  in  my  arms! 
[Seeing  Roxane  conie  out  from  Clomire's  1wt(^e.^ 

— It  is  she!    Cyrano,  no! — Leave  me  not! 
Cyrano  [hovjing]. 

Speak  for    yourself,    my  friend,    and    take    yovs 
chance. 

[He  disappears  behind  the  garden  ivaU.^ 

SCENE  V. 
Christian,  Roxane,  the  Duenna, 
Roxane   [coming  out  of  Cix)mire's  liouse,  with  a  com- 
pany of  friends,    ivhom  she  leaves.     Bows  and 
good-byes].   Barthenoide! — Alcandre! — Gremione! — 
The  Duenna  [bitterly  disappointed]. 


MG  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAC. 

We've  missed  the  speech  upon  the  Tender  Passion! 
[Goes  into  Roxane's  liouse.'] 
RoxANE  [still  bowing].  Urimidonte— adieu! 

[All  bote  to  RoxANE  and  to  each  other,  and  then  sep- 
arate, going  up  different  streets.  Roxane  stcd- 
denly  seeing  Christian.] 

You!     [She  goes  to  him.]    Evening  falls. 

Let's  sit.     Speak  on.     I  listen. 
©BRiSTiAN  [sits  by  her  on  the  bench.     A  silence}. 

Oh!  I  love  you! 
BoxANE  [shutting  her  eyes].     Ay,  speak  to  me  of  love. 
Christian.    I  love  thee! 
EoxANE.  That's 

The  theme!    But  vary  it. 
Christian.    I  .  .  . 
BoxANE.     Vary  it! 
Christian.     I  love  you  so! 
Roxane.     Oh!  without  doubt!— and  then?  .  .  . 
Christian. 

And  then — I  should  be— oh! — so  glad— so  glad 

If  you  would  love  me! — Roxane,  tell  me  so! 
Boxane  [with  a  little  g^^imace]. 

I  hoped  for  cream,— you  give  me  gruel!     Say 

How  love  possesses  you  ? 
Christian.     Oh  utterly! 
Roxane. 

Come,  come!  .  .  .  unknot  those  tangled  sentiments! 
Christian.     Your  throat!  I'd  kiss  it! 
Roxane.     Christian! 
Christian.     I  love  thee! 
Boxane  [half  rising].     Again! 
Ohristiai/  [eagerly,  detaining  her]. 


CYRANO  BE  BERGERAG.  1^ 

No,  no!    I  love  thee  not! 
RoxANE  [reseating  herself].     'Tis  well! 
Ohristian.     But  I  adore  thee! 
KoxANE  [rising^  and  going  further  off  ].     Oh! 
Christian.     I  am  grown  stupid! 
RoxANE  [dryly]. 

And  that  displeases  me,  almost  as  much 

As  'twould  displease  me  if  you  grew  ill-favored. 
Christian.     But  .  .  . 

KoxANE.     Rally  your  poor  eloquence  that's  flown ! 
Christian.     I  .  .  . 
RoxANE.     Yes,  you  love  me,  that  I  know.     Adieu. 

[She  goes  towards  her  house.  ] 
Christian.     Oh,  go  not  yet!    I'd  tell  you— 
RoxANE  [opening  the  door].     You  adore  me? 

I've  heard  it  very  oft.     No! — Go  away! 
Christian.     But  I  would  fain  .  .  . 

[She  shuts  the  door  in  hisface.'\ 
Cyrano  [wJio  has  re-entered  unseen]. 

V  faith!    It  is  successful! 

SCENE  VI. 
Christian,  Cyrano,  two  Pages. 
Christian.     Come  to  my  aid! 
Cyrano.     Not  I! 
Christian.  But  I  shall  die, 

Unless  at  once  I  win  back  her  fair  favor. 
Cyrano. 

And  how  can  I,  at  once,  i'  th'  devil's  name, 
Lesson  you  in  .  .  . 
Christian  [seizing  his  arm].     Oh,  she  is  there! 

[The  ivindow  of  the  balcony  is  now  lighted  up.l 


1 02  CYRANO  BE  BERQERAC. 

Cyrano  [moved].     Her  window! 

Christian.     Oh!  I  shall  die  I 

Cyrano.     Speak  lower! 

Christian  [in  a  whisper].     I  shall  die! 

Cyrano.     The  night  is  dark  .  .  . 

Christian.     Well! 

Cyrano.  All  can  be  repaired. 

Although  you  merit  not.    Stand  there,  poor  wretet  - 

Fronting  the  balcony!     I'll  go  beneath 

And  prompt  your  words  to  you  .  .  . 
Christian.    But  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     Hold  your  tongue! 

The  Pages  [reappearing  at  hack — to  Ctbano].     Ho! 
Cyrano.     Hush! 

[He  signs  to  them  to  speak  softly.] 
First  Page  [in  a  low  voice]. 

We've  played  the  serenade  you  bade 

To  Montfleury! 
Cyrano  [quickly,  in  a  low  voice]. 

Go!  lurk  in  ambush  there, 

One  at  this  street  corner,  and  one  at  that; 

And|if  a  passer-by  should.here  intrude, 

Play  you  a  tune! 
Second  Page.     What  tune,  Sir  Gassendist? 
Cyrano. 

Gay,  if  a  woman  comes, — for  a  man,  sad! 
[TM  Pages  disappear,  one  at  each  street  eomer.     T0 
Christian.] 

Call  her! 
Christian.     Roxane! 
Cyrano  [picking  up  stones  and  throwing  them  at  the 

window].     Some  pebbles!  wait  awhile! 


CYRANO  BE  BERQRRAC.  103 

RoxANE  [half  optning  the  easeraent].     Who  ealU  me? 

Christian.     I! 

RoxANE.     Who's  that? 

Christian.     Christian! 

RoxANE  [disdmiifuUy].     Oh!  you? 

Christian.     I  would  speak  with  you. 

Cyrano  [under  the  balcony — to  Christian]. 

Good.     Speak  soft  and  low. 
RoxANE.     No,  you  speak  stupidly! 
Christian.     Oh,  pity  me! 
RoxANE.     No!  you  love  me  no  more! 
Christian  [promjAed  hy  Cyrano]. 

You  say — Great  Heaven! 

I  love  no  more. — when — I — love  more  and  more! 
RoxANE  [who  ivas  about  to  shut  the  casement,  pausing^. 

Hold!  'tis  a  trifle  better!  ay,  a  trifle! 
Christian  [same  play\ 

Love  grew  apace,  rocked  by  the  anxious  beating  .  .  . 

Of  this  poor  heart,  which  the  cruel  wanton  boy  .  .  . 

Took  for  a  cradle! 
Roxane  [coming  out  on  to  the  balcony}. 

That  is  better!     But 

An  if  you  deem  that  Cupid  be  so  cruel 

You  should  have  stifled  baby-love  in  's  cradle! 
Christian  [same  play]. 

Ah,  Madame,  I  essayed,  but  all  in  vain 

This  .  .  .  new-born  babe  is  a  young  .  .  .  Hercules! 
Roxane.     Still  better! 
Christian  [same  play]. 

Thus  he  strangled  in  my  h^art 

Th«    .  ,  .    serpents   twain,  of   .  .  .    Pride  .  .  .  and 
Doubt! 


104  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAC. 

RoxANE  {leaning  over  the  balcony].  Well  said! 

— But  why  so  faltering?    Has  mental  palsy 

Seized  on  your  faculty  imaginative? 
Cyrano  [drawing  Christian  under  the  balcony,  and 

slipping  into  his  place]. 

Give  place!    This  waxes  critical!  .  .  » 
RoxANE.  To- day  .  .  . 

Your  words  are  hesitating. 
Cyrano  [imitating  Christian— Z7i  a  whisper]. 

Night  has  come.  .  .  . 

In  the  dusk  they  grope  their  way  to  find  your  ear. 
JRoxANE.     But  my  words  find  no  such  impediment. 
Cyrano. 

They  find  their  way  at  once?     Small  wonder  that ! 

For  'tis  within  my  heart  they  find  their  home; 

Bethink  how  large  my  heart,  how  small  your  ear! 

And, — from  fair  heights  descending,  words  fall  fast, 

But  mine  must  mount,  Madame,  and  that  takes  time! 

jElOXANE. 

Meseems  that  your  last  words  have  learned  to  climb, 
Cyrano. 

With  practice  such  gymnastic  grows  less  hard! 

ROXANE. 

In  truth,  I  seem  to  speak  from  distant  heights! 
Cyrano. 

True,  far  above;  at  such  a  height  'twere  death 

If  a  hard  word  from  you  fell  on  my  heart. 
RoxANE  [moving].     I  will  come  down.  .  .  . 
Cyrano  [hastily].    No! 
RoxANE  [showing  him  the  bench  tinder  the  balcony\ 

Mount  then  on  the  bench! 
Cyrano  [starting  back  alarmed].    No! 


CYRANO  DE  BERQERAC.  195 

KoxANE.     How,  you  will  not? 

Cyrano  [more  and  more  moved]. 

Stay  awhile!  'Ti«  sweet,  .  .  . 
The  rare  occasion,  when  our  hearts  ean  speak, 
Ourselves  unseen,  unseeing! 

PwOXANE.     Why— unseen? 

Cyrano. 

Ay,  it  is  sweet!     Half  hidden, — half  revealed — 
You  see  the  dark  folds  of  my  shrouding  cloak, 
And  I,  the  glimmering  whiteness  of  your  dress: 
I  but  a  shadow — you  a  radiance  fair! 
Know  you  what  such  a  moment  holds  for  me? 
If  ever  I  were  eloquent  .  .  . 

RoxANE.     You  were! 

Cyrano. 

Yet  never  till  to-night  my  speech  has  sprung 
Straight  from  my  heart  as  now  it  springs. 

RoxANE.     Why  not? 

Cyrano.     Till  now  I  spoke  haphazard  .  .  . 

RoxANE.     What  ? 

Cyrano.  Your  eyes 

Have  beams  that  turn  men  dizzy! — But  to-night 
Methinks  I  shall  find  speech  for  the  first  time! 

ROXANE. 

'Tis  true,  your  voice  rings  with  a  tone  that's  new. 

Cyrano  [coming  nearer,  2^cissionately]. 

Ay,  a  new  tone!    In  the  tender,  sheltering  dusk 
I  dare  to  be  myself*  for  once,— at  lastl 

[Re  stops,  falters.] 
What  say  I?    I  know  not! — Oh,  pardon  me — 
It  thrills  me, — 'tis  so  sweet,  so  novel  .  .  . 

Roxane.  How  ? 


106  CYRANO  BE  BEBGERAG. 

So  novel  ? 

Cyrano   [off  Ms  balance,  trying  to  find  the  thread  of 
his  sentence]. 
Ay,— to  be  at  last  sincere; 
Till  now,  my  chilled  heart,  fearing  to  b«  mocked  .  . 

RoxANE.  Mocked,  and  for  what? 

Cyrano.     For  its  mad  beating!— Ay, 

My  heart  has  clothed  itself  with  witty  words, 
To  shroud  itself  from  curious  eyes: — impelled 
At  times  to  aim  at  a  star,  I  stay  my  hand. 
And,  fearing  ridicule, — cull  a  wild  flower! 

RoxANE.  A  wild  flower's  sweet. 

Cyrano.  Ay!  but  to-night— the  star! 

RoxANE.     Oh!  never  have  you  spoken  thus  before! 

Cyrano.     If,  leaving  Cupid's  arrows,  quivers,  torches, 
We  turned  to  seek  for  sweeter — fresher  things! 
Instead  of  sipping  in  a  pigmy  glass 
Dull  fashionable  waters, — did  we  try 
How  the  soul  slakes  its  thirst  in  fearless  draught 
By  drinking  from  the  river's  flooding  brim! 

RoxANE.     But  wit  ?  .  .  . 

Cyrano.  If  I  have  used  it  to  arrest  you 

At  the  first  starting, — now,  'twould  be  an  outrage, 
An  insult — to  the  perfumed  Night — to  Nature — 
To  speak  fine  words  that  garnish  vain  love-letters! 
Look  up  but  at  her  stars!    The  quiet  Heaven 
Will  ease  our  hearts  of  all  things  artificial; 
I  fear  lest,  'midst  the  alchemy  we're  skilled  in, 
The  truth  of  sentiment  dissolve  and  vanish, — 
The  soul  exhausted  by  these  empty  pastimes. 
The  gain  of  fine  things  be  the  loss  of  all  things! 

RoXANE.     But  wit  ?     I  say  ... 


CYRANO  BE  BEROERAC.  1 0 7 

Oyrano.     In  love  'tis  crime, — 'tis  hateful! 
Turning  frank  loving  into  subtle  fencing! 
At  last  the  moment  comes,  inevitable, — 
— Oh,  woe  for  those  who  never  know  that  moment! 
When  feeling  love  exists  in  us,  ennobling, 
Each  well-weighed  word  is  futile  and  soul-sadden- 
ing! 

i5oxA^fE. 

Well,  if  that  moment's  come  for  us— suppose  it! 
What  words  would  serve  you  ? 

Cyrano.  All,  all,  all,  whatever 

That  came  to  me,  e'en  as  they  came,  I'd  fling  tlaew 
In  a  wild  cluster,  not  a  careful  bouquet. 
I  love  thee!     I  am  mad!     I  love,  I  stifle! 
Thy  name  is  in  my  heart  as  in  a  sheep-bell, 
And  as  I  ever  tremble,  thinking  of  thee, 
Ever  the  bell  shakes,  ever  thy  name  ringeth! 
All  things  of  thine  I  mind,  for  I  love  all  things; 
I  know  that  last  year  on  the  twelfth  of  May-month, 
To  \Nalk  abroad,  one  day  you  changed  your  hair- 
plaits! 
I  am  so  used  to  take  your  hair  for  daylight 
That, — like  as   when  the   eye  stares  on  the  sun's 

disk. 
One  sees  long  after  a  red  blot  on  all  things — 
So,  when  I  quit  thy  beams,  my  dazzled  vision 
Sees  upon  all  things  a  blond  stain  imprinted. 

BoxANE  [agitated].     Why,  this  is  love  indeed!  .  .  . 

Cyrano.  Ay,  true,  the  feeling 

Which  fills  me,  terrible  and  jealous,  truly 
Love,— which  is  ever  sad  amid  its  transports! 
Love,— and  yet,  strangely,  not  a  selfish  passion! 


108  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAG. 

I  for  your  joy  would  gladly  lay  mine  own  down, 
— E'en  though  you  never  were  to  know  it, — never! 
— If  but  at  times  I  might— far  off  and  lonely,— 
Hear  some  gay  echo  of  the  joy  I  bought  you! 
Each  glance  of  thine  awakes  in  me  a  virtue, — 
A  novel,  unknown  valor.     Dost  begin,  sweet. 
To  understand  ?    So  late,  dost  understand  me  ? 
Feel'st  thou  my  sonl,  here,  through  the  darkness 

mounting  ? 
Too  fair  the  night!    Too  fair,  too  fair  the  moment] 
That  I  should  speak  thus,  and  that  you  should 

hearken! 
Too    fair!      In    moments    when    my  hopes    rose 

proudest, 
I  never  hoped  such  guerdon.     Naught  is  left  me 
But  to  die  now!    Have  words  of  mine  the  power 
To    make    you    tremble, — throned    there    in    the 

branches  ? 
Ay,  like  a  leaf  among  the  leaves,  you  tremble! 
You  tremble!    For  I  feel, — an  if  you  will  it, 
Or  will  it  not, — your  hand's  beloved  trembling 
Thrill  through  the  branches,  down  your  sprays  of 
jasmine! 
{He  kisses  passionately  one  of  the  hanging  tendrils.^ 

RoxANE.     Ay!  lam  trembling,  weeping!— I  am  thine! 
Thou  hast  conquered  all  of  me! 

Cyrano.  Then  let  death  come! 

'Tis  I,  'tis  I  myself,  who  conquered  thee! 
One  thing,  but  one,  I  dare  to  ask — 

Christian  [under  the  lalcony].     A  kiss! 

RoxANE  [drawing  back].     What? 

Cyrano.     Oh! 


CYRANO  DE  BERGEBAC.  109 

KoxANE.     You  ask  .  .  .  ? 

Cyrano.     I  .  .  .     [To  Christian,  whispering.]     Fool! 

you  go  too  quick! 
Christian.    Since  she  is  moved  thus— I  will  profit  by  it! 
Cyrano  [to  Roxane]. 

My  words  sprang  thoughtlessly,  but  now  I  see- 
Shame  on  me! — I  was  too  presumptuous. 
Roxane  [a  little  chilled].     How  quickly  you  withdraw! 
Cyrano.  Yes,  I  withdraw 

"Without  withdrawing!    Hurt  I  modesty  ? 
If  so— the  kiss  I  asked — oh,  grant  it  not. 
Christian  [to  Cyrano,  pulling  Mm  by  his  cloak]. 

Why? 
Cyrano.     Silence,  Christian!     Hush! 
Roxane  [leaning  over].     What  whisper  you? 
Cyrano.     I  chid  myself  for  my  too  bold  advances; 
Said,  "Silence,  Christian!" 

[The  lutes  begin  to  play.] 
Hark!     Wait  awhile,  .  .  . 
Steps  come! 
[Roxane  shuts  the  window.     Cyrano  listens  to  the 
lutes ^  one  of  which  plays  a  merry,  the  other  a 
melancholy  tune.  ] 

Why,  they  play  sad — then  gay— then  sad! 
What?    Neither  man  nor  woman? — oh!  a  monk! 

[Enter  a  Capuchin  Friar,  with  a  lantern.     He  goes 
from  house  to  liouse,  looking  at  every  door.] 

SCENE  VII. 
Cyrano,  Christian,  a  Capuchin  Friar. 
Cyrano  [to  the  Friar]. 


110  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAO. 

What  do  you,  playing  at  Diogenes? 
The  Friak     I  seek  the  house  of  Madame  .  .  . 
Christian.     Oh!  plague  take  him! 
The  Friar.     Madeleine  Robm  .  .  . 
Christian.     What  would  he?  .  .   . 
Cyrano  [pointing  to  a  street  at  the  back].     This  way! 

Straight  on  .  .  . 
The  Friar.     I  thank  you,  and,  in  your  intention 

Will  tell  my  rosary  to  its  last  bead. 
[He  goes  out.] 
Cyrano. 

Good  luck!    My  blessings  rest  upon  your  cowK 
[He  goes  back  to  Christian.] 

SCENE  VIII. 
Cyrano,  Christian. 
Christian.     Oh !  win  for  me  that  kiss.   ... 
Cyrano.     No! 

Christian.     Soon  or  late!  ... 
Cyrano.     'Tis  true!    The  moment  of  intoxieation— 
Of  madness, — when  your  mouths  are  sure  to  meet, 
Thanks  to  your  fair  mustache— and  her  rose  lips! 

[ToJnmseJf.] 
I'd  fainter  it  should  come,  thanks  to  .  .  . 

[A  sound  of  shutters  reopening.     Christian  goes  in 
again  under  the  balcony.] 

SCENE  IX. 
Cyrano,  Christian,  Roxane. 
KozANZ  [comvng  out  on  balcony].     Still  there? 
We  spoke  of  a  .  .  . 


CYRANO  DJB  S  ERG  WE  AC.  Ill 

Cyrano.  A  kiss!    The  word  is  sweet. 

I  see  not  why  your  lip  should  shrink  from  it; 
If  the  word  burns  it,— what  would  the  kiss  do? 
Oh!  let  it  not  your  bash  fulness  affright; 
Have  you  not,  all  this  time,  insensibly, 
Left  badinage  aside,  and  unalarmed 
Glided  from  smile  to  sigh,— from  sigh  to  weeping? 
Glide  gently,  imperceptibly,  still  onward — 
From  tear  to  kiss — a  moment's  thrill!— a  heart-beatl 

ROXANE.     Hush!  hush! 

Cyrano.  A  kiss,  when  all  is  said,— what  is  it? 

An  oath  that's  ratified, — a  sealed  promise, 
A  heart's  avowal  claiming  confirmation, — 
A  rose-dot  on  the  "  I "  of  '•  adoration,"— 
A  secret  that  to  mouth,  not  ear,  is  whispered, — 
Brush  of  a  bee's  wing,  that  makes  time  eternal,— 
Communion     perfumed     like    the    spring's    wild 

flowers, — 
The  heart's  relieving  in  the  heart's  outbreathing, 
When  to  the  lips  the  soul's  flood  rises,  brimming! 

RoxANE.     Hush!  hush! 

Cyrano.  A  kiss,  Madame,  is  honorable; 

The  Queen  of  France,  to  a  most  favored  lord 
Did  grant  a  kiss — the  Queen  herself! 

RoxANE.     What  then? 

Cyrano  [speaking  more  warmly] . 

Buckingham  suffered  dumbly, — so  have  I, — 
Adored  his  Queen,  as  loyally  as  I, — 
Was  sad,  but  faithful, — so  am  I.  .  .  . 

ROXANK.  And  you 

Ar«  fair  as  Buckingham ! , 

Cyrano  [aside — suddenly  cooled].     True, — I  forgot! 


112  CYRANO  DE  BERGERA(^. 

ROXANE. 

Must  I  then  bid  thee  mount  to  cull  this  flower? .  .  . 
Cyrano  {pushing  Christian  towards  the  balcony]. 

Mount! 
RoxANE.     This  heart-breathing!  .  .  . 
Cyrano,     Mount!  , 

RoxANB.     This  brush  of  bee's  wing!  ... 
Cyrano.     Mount! 
Christian  [hesitating]. 

But  I  feel  now,  as  though  'twere  ill  done!  , 

RoxANE.     This  moment  infinite!  ... 
Cyrano  [still pushing  him].   Come,  blockhead,  mount! 

[Christian  springs  forward,  and  hy  means  of  the 
bench,  the  branches,  and  the  pUlars,  climbs  to  the 
balcony  and  strides  over  it.] 

Christian.     Ah,  Roxane! 

[He  takes  her  in  his  arms,  and  bends  over  Tier  lips.  ] 
Cyrano.       Aie!    Strange  pain  that  wings  my  heart! 
The  kiss,  love's  feast,  so  near!     I,  Lazarus, 
Lie  at  the  gate  in  darkness.     Yet  to  me 
Falls  still  a  crumb  or  two  from  the  rich  man's 

board- 
Ay,  'tis  my  heart  receives  thee,  Roxane— mine! 
Por  on  the  lips  you  press  you  kiss  as  well 
The  words    I    spoke    just    now! — my  words — Bay 
words! 

[  The  lutes  play.  ] 
A  sad  air, — a  gay  air:  the  monk! 
[He  begins  to  run  as  if  he  came  from  a  long  vmy  a^, 

and  cries  out.]     Hola! 
B«XANE.     Who  is  it  ? 


CYRANO  DE  BEROERAG.  113 

Cyrano.     I— I  was  but  passing  by  .  .  . 

Is  Christian  there  ? 
Christian  [astonished].     Cyrano! 
RoxANE.     Good-day,  cousin! 
Cyrano.     Cousin,  good-day! 
EoxANE.     I'm  coming! 
^She  disappears  into  the  house.     At  the  hack  re-&iUer 

the  Friar.] 
Christian  [seeing  7iini\.     Back  again! 

[He  follows  B.O'LA.^Y,.'] 


SCENE  X. 
Cyrano,  Christian,  Roxane,  the  Friar,  Ragueneau. 
The  Friar. 

'Tis  here, — I'm  sure  of  it — Madame  Madeleine  Robin. 
Cyrano.     Why,  you  said  Ro-Ziw. 
The  Friar.     No,  not  I. 

B,  i,  n,  Un  ! 
Roxane  [appearing  on  the  threshold,  followed  by  Ra- 
gueneau, ivho  carries  a  lantern,  and  Christian]. 

What  is  't  ? 
The  Friar.     A  letter. 
Christian.     What? 
The  Friar  [to  Roxane]. 

Oh,  it  aan  boot  but  holy  business! 

'Tis  from  a  worthy  lord  .  .  . 
FwOxane  [to  Christian].     De  Guiche! 
Christian.     He  dares?  .  .  . 
Roxane.     Oh,  he  will  not  importune  me  forever! 
—  [Unsealing  the  letter.] 

I  love  you,— therefore 


114  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAG. 

{/She  reads  in  a  low  mice  by  tlw  aid  of  RaguenkaiTs 
laTitern.  ] 
' '  Lady, 

The  drums  beat; 
My  regiment  buckles  its  harness  on 
And  starts;  but  I,— they  deem  me  gone  before— 
But  I  stay.     I  have  dared  to  disobey 
Your  mandate.     I  am  here  in  convent  walls. 
I  come  to  you  to-night.     By  this  poor  monk— 
A  simple  fool  who  knows  not  what  he  bears — 
I  send  this  missive  to  apprise  your  ear. 
Your  lips  erewhile  have  smiled  on  me,  too  swe«t: 
I  go  not  ere  I've  seen  them  once  again! 
I  would  be  private;  send  each  soul  away, 
Receive  alone  him, — whose  great  boldness  you 
Have  deigned,  I  hope,  to  pardon,  ere  he  asks, — 
He  who  is  ever  your — et  cetera.'''' 
[To  the  Uoj^K.] 
Father,  this  is  the  matter  of  the  letter: — 

[All  come  near  her,  and  she  reads  aloud.] 
**Lady, 

The  Cardinal's  wish  is  law;  albeit 
It  be  to  you  unwelcome.    For  this  cause 
I  send  these  lines— to  your  fair  ear  addressed— 
By  a  holy  man,  discreet,  intelligent: 
It  is  our  will  that  you  receive  from  him, 
In  your  own  house,  the  marriage 
[SJie  turru  the  page.] 

benediction 
Straightway,  this  night.     Unknown  to  all  the  world 
Christian  becomes  your  husband.     Him  we  send. 
He  is  abhorrent  to  your  choice.     Let  be. 


CYRANO  DE  BERGERAC.  115 

Resign  yourself,  and  this  obedience 

"Will  be  by  Heaven  well  recompensed.     Receive 

Fair  lady,  all  assurance  of  respect, 

From  him  who  ever  was,  and  still  remains, 

Your  humble  and  obliged— e^  cetera.^'' 
The  Friar  [tvith  great  delight]. 
O  worthy  lord!     I  knew  naught  was  to  fear; 
It  could  be  but  a  holy  business! 
RoxANE  [^0  Christian,  in  a  low  voice']. 

Am  I  not  apt  at  reading  letters  ? 
Christian.     Hum! 

RoxANE  [aloud,  vntli  despair].     But  this  is  horrible! 
The  Friar  [who  has  turned  his  lantern  on  Cyrano], 

'lis  you? 
Christian.     'Tis  I! 
The  Friar   [turning  the  light  on  to  him.,  and  as  if  a 

doubt  struck  him  on  seeing  his  beauty]. 

But  .  .   . 
RoXANE  [quickly]. 

I  have  overlooked  the  postscript — see:— 

"Give  twenty  pistoles  for  the  Convent." 
The  Friar.     Oh! 

Most  worthy  lord! 

[  To  RoxANE.  ]     Submit  you ! 
Roxane  [with  a  martyr's  look].     I  submit! 
[  While  Ragueneau  opens  the  door,  and  Christian  in- 
vites  the  Friar  to  enter,  she  whispers  to  Cyrano.] 

Oh,  keep  De  Guiche  at  bay!    He  ^ill  be  here! 

Let  him  not  enter  till  .  .  . 
Otrano.     I  understand! 

[To  the  Friar,] 

What  time  nee^  you  to  tie  the  marriage-knot? 


116  CYRANO  BE  BERG ER AG. 

The  Friar.     A  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Cyrano  [pushing  them  all  toward  the  house]. 

Go!    I  stay. 
RoxANE  [to  Christian].     Come!  .  .  . 

[They  enter.] 

Cyrano.     Now,  how  to  detain  De  Guiche  so  long  ? 

\Ife  JuinjDs  on  the  bench,  climbs  to  the  balcony  by  the 

ivall.  ] 

Come!  ...  up  I  go!  ...  I  have  my  plan!  .  ,  . 

[The  lutes  begin  to  play  a  very  sad  air.] 

What,  ho! 
\TIie  tremolo  grows  more  and  more  weird.] 
tt  is  a  man!  ay!  'tis  a  man  this  time! 
\l^e  itt  on  the  balcony,  pidls  his  hat  ovei'  his  eyes,  takes 
of  hU  sword,  wraps  himself  in  his  cloak^  then 
leatus  over.] 
'Tis  not  too  high! 
{He  strides  across  the  balcony,  and  drawing  to  him  a 
long  OTo^ich  of  one  of  the  trees  that  are  by  the 
garden  laull,  he  hangs  on  to  it  with  both  hands j 
ready  to  Cta  himself  fall.  ] 
I'll  shake  this  atmosphere! 

SCENE  XI. 
OmKAifO,  De  Guiche. 
Di  fi-uiCHE  [who  emer&y  masked,  feeling  his  way  in 
the  dark]. 

"What  can  that  cursert  Friar  be  about  ? 
Cyrano.     The  devill  ,  .  .     If  he  knows  my  voice! 
[Letting  go  witJi  one  hand,  he  pretends  to  turn  an  in- 
visible key.     Solemnly.] 

Cric!  crac! 


CYRANO  DE  BERGERAC.  117 

Assume  thou,  Cyrano,  to  serve  the  turn, 
The  accent  of  thy  native  Bergerac!  .  .  . 
Be  Guiche  [looking  at  the  house]. 

'lis  there.     I  see  dim, — this  mask  hinders  me! 
[He  is  about  to  enter,  when  Cyrano  leaps  from  the 
balcony,  holding  on  to  the  branch,  which  bends, 
dropping  him  between  the  door  and  De  Guiche; 
lie  pretends   to  fall  heavily,  as  from  a  great 
height,  and  lies  flat  on  the  ground,  motionless^ 
as  if  stunned.    De  Guiche  starts  back.  ] 
What's  this  ? 
[  When  he  looks  up,  the  branch  has  sprung  back  into 
its  place.    He  sees  only  the  sky,  and  is  lost  in 
amazement.  ] 
Where  fell  that  man  from  ? 
Cyrano   {sitting  up,   and    speaking  with    a  Gaseen 

accent].     From  the  moon! 
De  Guiche.     From  .  .  .  ? 
Cyrano  [in  a  dreamy  voice].     What's  o'clock  ? 
De  Guiche.     He's  lost  his  mind,  for  sure! 
Cyrano. 

What  hour  ?    What  country  this  ?    What  month  ? 
What  day? 
De  Guiche.     But  .  .  . 
Cyrano.    I  am  stupefied! 
De  Guiche.     Sir! 
Cyrano.     Like  a  bomb 

I  fell  from  the  moon! 
De  Guiche  [impatiently].     Come  nowl 
Cyrano  [rising,  in  a  terHble  voice].     I  say, — the  moon! 
De  Guiche  [recoiling]. 

Good,  good'  let  it  be  so!  .  .  .     He's  raving  mad  I 


118  CYRANO  DE  BERGERAG. 

Cyrano  {walking  up  to  him]. 

I  say  from  the  moon!    I  mean  no  metaphor!  .  .  . 
De  GmcHE.     But  ... 
Otrano.        Was't  a  hundred  years — a  minute,  sim»? 

— I  cannot  guess  what  time  that  fall  embraced! — 

That  I  was  in  that  saffron-colored  ball? 
De  Guiche  [shrugging  his  shoulders]. 

Good!  let  me  pass! 
Cyrano  [interceptiiig  him]. 

Where  am  I?    Tell  the  truth! 

Fear  not  to  tell!   Oh,  spare  me  not!   Where?  where? 

Have  I  fallen  like  a  shooting  star? 
De  Guiche.     Morbleu !  , 

Cyrano. 

The  fall  was  lightning-quick!  no  time  to  choose 

Where  I  should  fall — I  know  not  where  it  be! 

Oh,  tell  me!    Is  it  on  a  moon  or  earth, 

That  my  posterior  weight  has  landed  me? 
De  Guiche.     I  tell  you,  Sir  .  .  . 
Cyrano   \with    a    screech  of  terror^   that  makes  Bb 

Guiche  start  back].     No?    Can  it  be?    I'm  on 

A  planet  where  men  have  black  faces? 
De  Guiche  [putting  his  hand  to  his  face].     What? 
Cyrano  [feigning  great  alarm]. 

Am  I  in  Africa?    A  native  you? 
De  Guiche  [who  has  rememhered  his  ma>tk]. 

This  mask  of  mine  .  .  . 
Cyrano  [pretending  to  he  reassured]. 

In  Venice?  ha!— or  Rome? 
De  Guiche  [trying  to  pass].     A  lady  waitg  .  .  . 
Cyrano  [quite  reassured],     Oh-ho!    I  am  in  Parisl 


CYRANO  BK  BERG EB AG.  119 

De  Gdiche  [smiling  in  spite  of  Jiimself]. 

The  fool  is  comical! 
Cyrano.     You  laugh? 

De  Guiche.  I  laugh,  but  would  g«t  by! 

Cyrano  [beaming  with  Joy]. 

I  have  shot  back  to  Paris! 
[Quite  at  ease,  laughing,  dusting  himself,  bowing]. 
Come— pardon  me — by  the  last  water- spout, 
Covered  with  ether, — accident  of  travel! 
My  eyes  still  full  of  star  dust,  and  my  spurs 
Encumbered  by  the  planets'  filaments! 

[Picking  something  off  his  sleeve.] 

Ha!  on  my  doublet? — ah,  a  comet's  hair!  .  .  . 

[He puffs  as  if  to  blow  it  away.] 

De  Guiche  [beside  himself].     Sir!  .  .  . 

Cyrano  [just  as  he  is  about  to  pass,  holds  out  his  leg 

as  if  to  show  him  something  and  stops  him]. 

In  my  leg — the  calf — there  is  a  tooth 
Of  the  Great  Bear,    and,  passing  Neptune  close, 
I  would  avoid  his  trident's  point,  and  fell 
Thus  sitting,  plump,  right  in  the  Scales!  My  weight 
Is  marked,  still  registered,  up  there  in  heaven! 
[Hurriedly  preventing  De  Guiche  from  passing,  and 
detaining  him  by  the  button  of  his  doublet.] 
I  swear  to  you  that  if  you  squeezed  my  nose 
It  would  spout  milk! 
De  Guiche.     Milk? 
Cyrano.     From  the  Milky  Way! 
De  Guiche.     Oh,  go  to  hell! 
Cyrano,     [crossing  his  arms]  . 

I  fall.  Sir,  out  of  he«T«Dl 
Now,  would  you  credit  it,  that  as  I  fell 


J20  CYRANO  BE  BER&ERAG. 

I  saw  that  Sirius  wears  a  nightcap?    True! 

[  Confidentially.] 
The  other  Bear  is  still  too  small  to  bite. 

[Laughing.  ] 
I  went  through  the  Lyre,  but  I  snapped  a  cord; 

[Grrandiloquent.  ] 
I  mean  to  write  the  whole  thing  in  a  book; 
The  small  gold  stars,  that  wrapped  up  in  my  cloak, 
I  carried  safe  away  at  no  small  risks. 
Will  serve  for  asterisks  i'  the  printed  page! 
De  Guiche,     Come,  make  an  end!    I  want  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     Oh-ho!    You  are  sly! 
De  Gcjiche.     Sir! 

Cyrano.     You  would  worm  all  out  of  me! — the  way 
The  moon  is  made,  and  if  men  breathe  and  live 
In  its  rotund  cucurbita? 
De  Guiche  [angrily].     No,  no!  I  want  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     Ha,  ha! — to  know  how  I  got  up? 

Hark!    It  was  by  a  method  all  my  own. 
De  Guiche  [wearied].     He's  mad! 
Cyrano  [contemptuously]. 

No!  not  for  me  the  stupid  eagle 
Of  Regiomontanus,  nor  the  timid 
Pigeon  of  Archytas — neither  of  those! 
De  Guiche. 

Ay,  'tis  a  fool!    But  'tis  a  learned  fool! 
Cyrano.     No  imitator  I  of  other  men! 

[De  Guiche  has  succeeded  in  getting  by,  and  goes  fe- 
ward  Roxane's  door.  Cyrano  follows  him,  ready 
to  stop  him  hy  force.] 
Six  novel  methods,  all,  this  brain  invented! 
De  Guiche  [turning  round].     Six? 


CYRANO  DE  BEROEEAC.  131 

€wiANO  [volubly]. 

First,  with  body  naked  as  your  hand, 

Festooned  about  with  crystal  flacons,  full 

O'  th'  tears  the  early  morning  dew  distills; 

My  body  to  the  sun's  fierce  rays  exposed 

To  let  it  suck  me  up,  as  't  sucks  the  dew! 
De    Guiche     [surprised,    making    one  step    towards 

Cyrano].     Ah!  that  makes  one! 
Cyrano   [stepping  hack,    and    enticing  Mm  further 

away].  And  then,  the  second  way, 

To  generate  wind — for  my  impetus — 

To  rarefy  air,  in  a  cedar  case. 

By  mirrors  placed  icosahedron-wise. 
De  Guiche  [making  another  step].     Two! 
Cyrano  [still  stepping  backwards]. 

Or — for  I  have  mechanic  skill — 

To  make  a  grasshopper,  with  springs  of  steel, 

And  launch  myself  with  quick  succeeding  fires 

Saltpeter-fed  to  the  stars'  pastures  blue! 
De  Guiche  [unconsciously  folloiving  him  and  counting 

on  h is  fingers] .     Three  I 
Cyrano.  Or  (since  fumes  have  property  to  mount) 

To  charge  a  globe  with  fumes  sufiiciently 

To  carry  me  aloft! 
De  Guiche  [same  play,  more  and  more  astonished^ 

Well,  that  makes  four! 
Cyrano. 

Or  smear  myself  with  marrow  from  a  bull, 

Since,  the  lowest  point  of  Zodiac, 

Phoebus  well  loves  to  suck  that  marrow  up! 
De  Guiche  [amazed].     Five! 


12;^  CYRANO  DE  BERGERAC. 

€^ntANO  [who^  while  speaking  7md  draum  Mm  to  tlie 
other  side  of  the  square  near  a  bench]. 

Sitting  on  an  iron  platform — thence 
To  throw  a  magnet  in  the  air.     This  is 
A  method  well  conceived — the  magnet  flown, 
Infallibly  the  iron  will  pursue; 
Then  quick!  relaunch  your  magnet,  and  you  thus 
Can  mount  and  mount  unmeasured  distances! 

Db  Guiche.     Here  are  six  excellent  expedients! 
Which  of  the  six  choose  you? 

Ctrano.     Why,  none! — a  seventh! 

De  GmcHE.     Astonishing!    What  was  it? 

Cyrano.     I'll  recount. 

Db  Guiche.     This  wild  eccentric  becomes  interesting! 

Ctrano  [making  a  noise  like  the  waves,  with  weird 
gestures].     HouUh!  houtih! 

De  Guiche.    Well. 

Cyrano.     You  have  guessed? 

Di  Guiche.     Not  I! 

Cyrano.  The  tide! 

I'  th'  witching  hour  when  the  moon  woos  the  wave, 

I  laid  me,  fresh  from  a  sea-bath,  on  the  shore — 

And,  failing  not  to  put  head  foremost— for 

The  hair  holds  the  sea- water  in  its  mesh — 

I  rose  in  air,  straight!  straight!— like  angel's  flight, 

And  mounted,  mounted,  gently,  effortless,  .  .  . 

When  lo!  a  sudden  shock!    Then  .  .  . 

De  Guiche  [overcome  by  curiosity,  sitting  down  on  the 
bench].     Then? 

Cyrano.  Oh!  then  .  .  . 

[Suddenly  returning  to  his  natural  voiee]. 
The  quarter's  gone— I'll  hinder  you  no  more. 
The  marriage -vows  are  made. 


CYRANO  BE  BERQERAG.  1^3 

De  Guiche  [springing  up].  What?    Am  I  madt 

That  voice? 
[Tlie  house   door  opens.     Lackeys  appear  carryinf 
lighted  candelabra.    Light.    Cyrano  grac^/uUy 
uncovers.] 

That  nose — Cyrano? 
Cyrano  [bouring].  Cyrano. 

While  we  were  chatting,  they  have  plighted  troth. 
De  Guiche.  Who? 

[He  turns  round.  Tableau.  Behind  the  lackeys  ap- 
pear RoxANE  and  Christian,  holding  each  other 
by  the  hand.  The  Friar  follows  them,  smiling. 
Ragueneau  also  holds  a  candlestick.  The 
Duenna  closes  the  rear,  beurildered,  having  made 
a  hasty  toilet.  ] 
Heavens! 


SCENE   XII. 

The  Same.     Roxane.   Christian,   the  Friar,   Ragub- 
NEAU,  Lackeys,  the  Duenna. 

De  Guiche  [to  Roxane].     You? 

[Recognizing  Christian,  in  amazement.] 

He? 
[Bowing,  with  admiration,  to  Roxanb.] 
Cunningly  contrived! 
[To  Cyrano.] 
My  compliments— Sir  Apparatus-maker! 
Your  story  would  arrest  at  Peter's  gate 
Saints  eager  for  their  Paradise!    Note  well 
The  details.     'Faith!    They'd  make  a  stirring  bookl 


124  CYRANO  BE  BERQEBAC, 

Cyrano  \howing\. 

I  shall  not  fail  to  follow  your  advice. 
The  Friar  [showing  with  satisfaction  the  two  lovers  to 
De  Guiche]. 

A  handsome  couple,  son,  made  one  by  you! 
De  Guiche  [with  a  freezing  looW].    Ay! 
[To  Roxane]. 

Bid  your  bridegroom,  Madame,  fond  farewell. 
Roxane.     Why  so? 
De  Guiche  [to  Christian]. 

Even  now  the  regiment  departs.     Join  it! 
Roxane.     It  goes  to  battle? 
De  Guiche.     Without  doubt. 
Roxane.     But  the  Cadets  go  not? 
De  Guiche.     Oh,  ay!  they  go. 

[Drawing  out  the  paper  he  had  put  in  his  pocket. 1 

Here  is  the  order.     [To  Christian.] 

Baron,  bear  it,  quick! 
Roxane  [throwing  herself  in  Christian's  arms']. 

Christian! 
De  Guiche  [sneeringly  to  Cyrano]. 

The  wedding-night  is  far,  methinksl 
Cyrano  [aside]. 

He  tninks  to  give  me  pain  or  death  by  this! 
Christian  [to  Roxane].     Oh!  once  again!    Your  lips! 
Cyrano.     Come,  come,  enough! 
Christian  [still  kissing  Roxane]. 

'Tis  hard  to  leave  her, — you  know  not  .  .  . 
Cyrano  [trying  to  draw  him  away].     I  know. 

[^und  of  drums  heating  a  march  in  the  distance.^ 
De  Guiche.    The  regiment  starts! 


UYUANO  DE  BMliGEliAU.  125^ 

RoxANE  [to  Cybano,  holding  hack  Christian,   u^hmn 
Cyrano  is  drawing  away]. 

Oh! — I  trust  him  you! 

Promise  me  that  no  risks  shall  put  his  life 

In  danger! 
Cyrano.     I  will  try  my  best,  but  promise  .  .  . 

ThatT  cannot! 
RoxANE.     But  swear  he  shall  be  prudent? 
Cyrano.     Again,  Til  do  my  best,  but  .  .  . 
RoxANE.     In  the  siege  let  him  not  suffer! 
Cyrano.     All  that  man  can  do,  I  .  .  . 
RoxANE.     That  he  shall  be  faithful! 
Cyrano.     Doubtless,  but  .  .  . 
RoxANE.     That  he  will  write  oft? 
Cyrano  [pausing].     That— I  promise  you! 

Curtain. 

ACT  IV. 

The  Cadets  of  Gascony. 

Post  oecupied  by  company  of  Carbon  de  Castel-Jaloux 
at  the  siege  of  Arras. 

At  the  background  an  embankment  across  the  whole 
stage.  Beyond,  view  of  plain  extending  to  the 
horizon.  The  country  covered  with  intrenchments. 
The  walls  of  Arras  and  the  outlines  of  its  roofs 
against  the  sky  in  the  distance.  Tents.  Arms 
strewn  about,  drums,  etc.  Day  is  breaking  with  a 
faint  glimmer  of  yellow  sunrise  in  the  east.  Sen- 
tinels at  different  points.  Watch-fires.  The 
Cadets  of  Gascony,  wrapped  in  their  mantles,  are 
sleeping.     Carbon  de  Castel-Jaloux  and  Le  Bret 


126  CYRANO  DE  BERGERAG. 

are  keeping  watch.  They  are  very  pale  and  thin. 
Christian  sleeps  among  the  others  in  his  cloak  in 
the  foregronnd,  his  face  illuminated  by  the  fire. 
Silence. 


SCENE   I. 

Christian,  Carbon  de  Castel-Jaloux,  Le  Bret,  the 

Cadets,  then  Cyrano. 
Le  Bret.     'Tis  terrible. 
Carbon.     Not  a  morsel  left. 
Le  Bret.     Mordious  ! 

Carbon  [making  a  sign  that  he  should  speak  lower]. 
Curse  under  your  breath.     You  will  awake  them. 

[To  the  Cadets.] 
Hush!    Sleep  on. 

[To  Le  Bret.] 
He  who  sleeps,  dines! 
Le  Bret. 

But  that  is  sorry  comfort  for  the  sleepless!  .  .  . 
What  starvation! 

[Firing  is  heard  in  the  distance.] 
Carbon. 

Oh,  plague  take  their  firing!     'Twill  wake  my  sons. 

[To  the  Cadets,  who  lift  up  their  heads.] 
Sleep  on! 

[Firing  is'jagain  heard,  nearer  this  time.] 
A  Cadet  [moving].     The  devil!  .  .  .     Again. 
Carbon.     'Tis  nothing!    'Tis  Cyrano  coming  back! 
{Those  who  have  lifted  up  their  heads  prepare  to  si 

again.] 
A  Sentinel  [from  unthout]. 


GTRANO  DE  BERQERAG.  127 

Ventrebieu  !    Who  goes  there  ? 

The  Voice  of  Cyrano.     Bergerac. 

The  Sentinel  [who  is  on  the  redoubt]. 
Ventrebieu!    Who  goes  there? 

Cyrano  [appearing  at  the  top].     Bergerac,  idiot. 

[He  comes  down  ;  Le  Bret  advances  anxiously  to  meet, 
him.  ] 

Lk  Bret.     Heavens! 

Cyrano   [making  signs  that  he  should  not  awake  the 
others]. 
Hush! 

Le  Bret.     Wounded  ? 

Cyrano.  Oh!  you  know  it  has  become  their  custom  to 
shoot  at  me  every  morning  and  to  miss  me. 

Le  Bret.  This  passes  all!  To  take  letters  at  each 
day's  dawn.     To  risk  .  .  . 

Cyrano  [stopping  before  .Christian].  I  promised  he 
should  write  often.  [He  looks  at  him.]  Ho  sleeps. 
How  pale  he  is!  But  how  handsome  still,  despite 
his  sufferings.  If  his  poor  little  lady-love  knew 
that  he  is  dying  of  hunger  .  .  . 

Le  Bret.     Get  you  quick  to  bed. 

Cyrano.  Nay,  never  scold,  Le  Bret.  I  ran  but  little 
risk.  I  have  found  me  a  spot  to  pass  the  Spanish 
lines,  where  each  night  they  lie  drunk. 

Le  Bret.     You  should  try  to  bring  us  back  provision. 

Cyrano.  A  man  must  carry  no  weight  who  would  get 
by  there!  But  there  will  be  surprise  for  ug  this 
night.  The  French  will  eat  or  die  ...  if  I  mis- 
take not! 

Le  Bret.     Oh!  .  .  .  tell  me!  ... 

Cyrano.     Nay,  not  yet.     I  am   not  certain  .  .   .    You 


1^38  CYRANO  DE  BERQERAG. 

will  see! 

Garbon.  It  is  disgraceful  that  we  should  starve  while 
we're  besieging! 

Le  Bret.  Alas,  how  full  of  complication  is  this  siege 
of  Arras!  To  think  that  while  we  are  besieging, 
we  should  ourselves  be  caught  in  a  trap  and  be- 
sieged by  the  Cardinal  Infante  of  Spain. 

Cyrano.  It  were  well  done  if  he  should  be  besieged  im 
his  turn. 

Le  Bret.     I  am  in  earnest. 

Cyrano.     Oh!  indeed! 

Le  Bret.  To  think  you  risk  a  life  so  precious  .  .  .  for 
the  sake  of  a  letter  .  .  .  Thankless  one. 

{Seeing  Mm  tuiming  to  enter  the  tent.^ 
Where  are  you  going  ? 

Cyrano.     I  am  going  to  write  another. 

[He  enters  the  tent  and  disappears.  ] 

SCENE    II. 

The  Same,  all  hut  Cyrano,  llie  day  is  breaking  in  a 
rosy  light.  The  town  of  Arras  is  golden  in  the 
horizon.  The  report  of  cannon  is  heard  in  the 
distance,  followed  immediately  by  the  beating,  of 
drums  far  away  to  the  left.  Other  drums  are 
heard  mv^h  nearer.  Sounds  of  stirring  in  the 
camp.     Voices  of  officers  in  the  distance. 

Carbon  [sighing].     The  reveille  ! 

[The  Cadets  move  and  stretch  themselves.^ 
Nourishing  sleep!  thou  art  at  an  end!  .  .  .  I  know 
well  what  will  be  their  first  cry! 

A  Cadet  [sitting  up].     I  am  so  hungry.' 

Another.     I  am  dying  of  hunger. 


CYRANO  DE  BEllGEUAC.  129 

Together.    Oh! 

Carbon.     Up  with  you! 

Third  Cadet.     — Cannot  move  a  limb. 

TouRTU  Cadet.     Nor  can  I. 

The  First  [looking  at  himself  in  a  hit  of  armor]. 

My  tongue  is  yellow.     The  air  at  this  season  of 

the  year  is  hard  to  digest. 
A.NOTHER.     My  coronet  for  a  bit  of  Chester! 
A.NOTHER.     If  none  can  furnish  to  my  caster  wherewith 

to  make  a  pint  of  chyle,  I  shall  retire  to  my  tent — 

like  Achilles! 
Another.     Oh!  something!  were  it  but  a  crust! 
Carbon  [going  to  the  tent  and  calling  softly^ 

Cyrano! 
All  the  Cadets.     We  are  dying! 
Carbon  [continuing  to  speak  under  his  breath  at  the 

opening  of  the  teiit].     Come  to  my  aid,  you,  who 

have  the  art  of  quick  retort  and  gay  jest.     Come, 

hearten  them  up. 
Second  Cadet  [rusJdng  toward  another  who  is  munch- 
ing sometliing].     What  are  you  crunching  there? 
First  Cadet.  Cannon-wads  soaked  in  axle-grease!    'Tis 

poor  hunting  round  about  Arras! 
A  Cadet  [entering].     I  have  been  after  game. 
Another  [following  him].     And  I  after  fish. 
All  [rushing  to  the  two  newcomers]. 

Well!  what  have  you  brought?— a  pheasant? — a 

carp? — Come,  show  us  quick! 
The  Angler.     A  gudgeon! 
The  Sportsman.     A  sparrow! 
a.LL  TOGETHER  [beside  themselves]. 

'Tis  more  than  can  be  borne.     We  will  mutiny! 


130  (JYUAJSO  BE  BERQERAG. 

Carbon.     Cyrano!  come  to  my  help. 

{The  daylight  has  now  come.^ 

SCENE  III. 
The  Same.     Cyrano. 

Cyrano  [appearing  from  the  tent,  very  calm,  with  a 

pen  stuck  behind  his  ear,  and  a  hook  in  his  hand]. 

"What  is  wrong?     [Silence.]     [To  the  YmsT  CjlDET.] 

Why  drag  you  your  legs  so  sorrowfully? 
The  Cadet.     I  have  something  in   my  heels    whick 

weighs  them  down. 
Cyrano.     And  what  may  that  be? 
The  Cadet.     My  stomach! 
Cyrano.     So  have  I,  'faith! 
The  Cadet.     It  must  be  in  your  way? 
Cyrano.     Nay,  I  am  all  the  taller. 
A  Third.     My  stomach's  hollow. 
Cyrano.     'Faith,  'twill  make  a  fine  drum  to  sound  the 

assault. 
Another.     I  have  a  ringing  in  my  ears. 
Cyrano. 

No,  no,  'tis  false;  a  hungry  stomach  has  no  ears. 
Another.     Oh,  to  eat  something— something  oily! 
Cyrano  [pulling  off  the  Cadet's  helmet  and  holding  it 

out  to  him].     Behold  your  salad! 
Another.     What,  in  God's  name,  can  we  devour? 
Cyrano  [throiving  him  the  hook  which  he  is  carrying].. 

The  "Iliad." 
Another. 

The  first  minister  in  Paris  has  his  four  meals  a  day! 


CYRANO  1)E  BERGERAG.  131 

Cyrano. 

'Twere  courteous  an  he  sent  you  a  few  partridges! 

Thp:  Same.     And  why  not?  with  wine;,  tool 

Cyrano. 

A  little  Burgundy.     Richelieu,  sil  voiis  plait ! 

The  Same.     He  could  send  it  by  one  of  his  friars. 

Cyrano.     Ay!  by  His  Eminence  Joseph  himself. 

Another.     I  am  as  ravenous  as  an  ogre! 

Cyrano.     Eat  your  patience,  then. 

The  First  Cadet  [shrugging  Ids  shoulders]. 
Always  your  pointed  word! 

Cyrano.  Ay,  pointed  words! 

I  would  fain  die  thus,  some  soft  summer  eve. 
Making  a  pointed  word  for  a  good  cause. 
—To  make  a  soldier's  end  by  soldier's  sword, 
Wielded  by  some  brave  adversary — die 
(^n  blood-stained  turf,  not  on  a  fever-bed, 
A  point  upon  my  lips,  a  point  within  my  heart. 

Cries  from  All,     I'm  hungry! 

Cyrano  [crossing  his  arms]. 

All  your  thoughts  of  meat  and  drinki 
Bertrand  the  fifer!~you  were  shepherd  once, — 
Draw  from  its  double  leathern  case  your  fife, 
Play  to  these  greedy,  guzzling  soldiers.     Play 
Old  country  airs  with  plaintive  rhythm  recurring. 
Where  lurk  sweet  echoes  of  the  dear  home-voices, 
Each  note  of  which  calls  like  a  little  sister. 
Those  airs  slow,  slow  ascending,  as  the   smoke- 
wreaths 
Rise  from  the  hearth-stones  of  our  native  hamlets, 
Their  music  strikes  the  ear  like  Gascon  patois- .' .  .  . 

\T?ie  old  man  seats  himself,  and  gets  his /lute  ready.] 


132  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAG. 

Your  flute  was  now  a.  warrior  in  durance; 
But  on  its  stem  your  fingers  are  a-dancing 
A  bird -like  minuet!     O  flute!     Remember 
That  flutes  were  made  of  reeds  first,  not  laburnum; 
Make  us  a  music  pastoral  days  recalling— 
The   soul-time    of    your    youth,    in    country   pas- 
tures! .  .  . 
[The  old  man  begins  to  play  the  airs  of  Langiiedoc.l 
Hark  to  the  music,  Gascons!  .  .  .     'Tis  no  longer 
The  piercing  fife  of  camp — but  'neath  his  fingers 
The  flute  of  the  woods!    No  more  the  call  to  com- 
bat, 
'Tis  now  the  love-song  of   the    wandering  goat- 
herds! .  .  . 
Hark!    .    .    .    'tis  the  valley,  the  wet  landes^  the 

forest, 
The  sunburned  shepherd-boy  with  scarlet  heret, 
The  dusk  of  evening  on  the  Dordogne  River, — 
'Tis  Gascony!     Hark,  Gascons,  to  the  music! 
[The  Cadets  sit  with  bowed  heads ;  their  eyes  have  a 
far-off  look  as  if  dreaming^  and  they  surrepti- 
tiously wipe  away  their  tears  with  their  cuffs 
and  the  corner  of  their  cloaTcs.] 
Carbon  [to  Cyrano  in  a  whisper]. 

But  you  make  them  weep! 
Cyrano.     Ay,  for  home-sickness.     A  nobler  pain  than 
hunger, — 'tis  of  the  soul,  not  of  the  body!     I  am 
well  pleased   to  see  their  pain  change  its  viscera. 
Heart-ache  is  better  than  stomach-ache. 
Carbon.     But  you   weaken   their  courage  by  playing 

thus  on  their  heart-strings! 
Cyrano  [making  a  sign  to  a  drummer  to  approach]. 


CYRANO  DE  BERGERAC.  138 

Not  I.     The  hero  that  sleeps   in  Gascon  blood  is 

ever  ready  to  awake  in  them.     'Twould  suffice  .  .  . 
[He  makes  a  signal ;  the  drum  beats.] 
All  the  Cadets  [stand  tip  and  rush  to  take  arms]. 

What  ?     What  is  it  ? 
Cyrano  [smiling].     You  seel    One  roll  of  the  drum  is 

enough!      Good-by  dreams,  regrets,    native   land, 

love.  .   .   .     All  that  the  pipe  called  forth  the  drum 

has  chased  away! 
A  Cadet  [looking  toward  the  hack  of  the  stage]. 

Ho!  here  comes  Monsieur  de  Guiche. 
All  the  Cadets  [muttering].     Ugh!  .  .  .     Ugh!  .  .  . 
Cyrano  [smiling].     A  flattering  welcome! 
A  Cadet.     We  are  sick  to  death  of  him! 
Another  Cadet. — With  his  laee  collar  over  his  armor, 

playing  the  fine  gentleman! 
Another.     As  if  one  wore  linen  over  steel! 
The  First.     It  were  good  for  a  bandage  had  he  boil&on 

his  neck. 
The  Second.     Another  plotting  courtier! 
Another  Cadet.     His  uncle's  own  nephew! 
Carbon.     For  all  that — a  Gascon. 
The  First.     Ay,  false  Gascon!  .  .  .  trust  him  not  .  .  . 

Gascons  should  ever  be  crack-brained.  .  .  .    Naught 

more  dangerous  than  a  rational  Gascon. 
Le  Bret.     How  pale  he  is! 
Another.     Oh!  he  is  hungry,  just  like  us  poor  devils; 

but  under  his  cuirass,  with  its   fine  gilt   nails,  his 

stomach-ache  glitters  brave  in  the  sun. 
Cyrano  [hurriedly].     Let  us  not   seem  to  suffer  either! 

Out  with  your  cards,  pipes,  and  dice.  .  .  . 
[^4//  begin  spreading  out  the  games  on   the  drums^ 


Ig4  CYMAjVO  de  bergerac. 

the  stools,  the  ground,  and  on  their  'cloaks, 
and  light  long  pipes.  ^ 
And  I  shall  read  Descartes. 
[He  ivalks  up  and  douni,  reading  a  little  hook  ivhioh 
he  has  drawn  from  his  pocket.  Tableau.  Enter 
De  Guiche,  All  appear  absorbed  and  happy. 
He  is  very  pale.     He  goes  up  to  Carbon.] 

SCENE  TV. 
The  Same.     De  Guiche. 

De  Guiche  [to  Carbon].     Good-day! 

[They  examine  each  other.     Aside,  with  satisfaction.] 
He's  green. 

Carbon  [aside].     He  has  nothing  left  but  eyes. 

De  Guiche  [looking  at  the  Cadets]. 

Here  are  the  rebels!     Ay,  Sirs,  on  all  sides 
I  hear  that  in  your  ranks  you  scoff  at  me; 
That  the  Cadets,  these  loutish,  mountain-bred, 
Poor  country  squires,  and  barons  of  Perigord, 
Scarce  find  for  me — their  Colonel— a  disdain 
Sufficient!  call  me  plotter,  wily  courtier! 
It  does  not  please  their  mightiness  to  see 
A  point-lace  collar  on  my  steel  cuirass, — 
And  they  enrage,  because  a  man,  in  sooth. 
May  be  no  ragged-robin,  yet  a  Gascon ! 
[Silence.     All  smoke  and  play.] 
Shall  I  command  your  Captain   punish  you  ? 
No. 

Carbon.     I  am  free,  moreover, — will  not  punish — 

De  Guiche.     Ah! 

Carbon.     I  have  paid  my  company — 'tis  mine. 
I  bow  but  to  headquarters. 


De  GuiciiE.     So?— Ill  faith! 
That  will  suffice. 

[Addressing  Imnself  to  the  CadkTS.] 
I  can  despise  your  taimt;s; 
'Tis  well  known  how  I  bear  me  in  the  war; 
At  Bapaumo,  yesterday,  they  saw  the  rage 
With  which  I  beat  back  the  Count  of  Bucquoi; 
Assembling  my  own  men,  I  fell  on  his, 
And  charged  three  separate  times! 

Cyrano  [without  lifting  his  eyes  from  his  hook]. 
And  your  white  scarf  ? 

De  Guiche  [surprised  and  gratified]. 

You  know  that  detail?  .  .  «     Troth!     It  happened. 

thus: 
While  caracoling  to  recall  the  troops 
For  the  third  charge,  a  band  of  fugitives 
Bore  me  with  them,  close  by  the  hostile  ranks: 
I  was  in  peril — capture,  sudden  death! — 
When  I  thought  of  the  good  expedient 
To  loosen  and  let  fall  the  scarf  which  told 
My  military  rank;  thus  I  contrived 
— Without  attention  w^aked — to  leave  the  foes, 
And  suddenly  returning,  re-enforced 
With  my  own  men,  to  scatter  them!     And  now, 
— What  say  you,  Sir? 

[Tlie  Cadets  pretend  not  to  be  listening,  but  the  cards 
and  the  dice-h^mm  remain  suspended  in  their 
hands,  the  smoke  of  their  pipes  in  their  cheeks. 
Theij  wait.] 

Cyrano.  I  say  that  Henri  Quatre 

Had  not,  by  any  dangerous  odds,  been  forced 


136  CYRANO  BE  BERQERAC. 

To  strip  himself  of  his  white  helmet  plume. 
[Silent  delight.     The  cards  fall,  the  dice  rattle.     Tlie 

smoke  is  puffed.] 
De  Guiche.     The  ruse  succeeded,  though! 
[Same  suspension  of  play,  etc.] 

Cyrano.  Oh.  may  be!    But 

One  does  not  lightly  abdicate  the  honor 
To  serve  as  target  to  the  enemy. 

[Cards,  dice,  fall  again,  and  the  Cadets  smoke  ivith 
evident  delight.] 
Had  I  been  present  when  your  scarf  fell  low, 
— Our  courage,  Sir,  is  of  a  different  sort — 
I  would,  have  picked  it  up  and  put  it  on. 

De  Guiche.     Oh,  ay!     Another  Gascon  boast! 

Cyrano.  A  boast? 

Lend  it  to  me.     I  pledge  myself,  to-night, 

— With  it  across  my  breast, — to  lead  th'  assault. 

De  Guiche. 

Another  Gascon  vaunt!     You  know  the  scarf 

Lies  with  the  enemy,  upon  the  brink 

Of  the  stream  .   .   .  the  place  is  riddled  now  with 

shot, — 
No  one  can  fetch  it  hither! 

Cyrano  [drawing  the  scarf  from  Ms  pocket,  and  hold- 
ing it  out  to  him].     Here  it  is. 

[Silence.  The  Cadets  stifle  their  laughter  in  their 
cards  and  dice-boxes.  De  Guiche  turns  and 
looks  at  them;  they  instantly  become  grave,  and 
set  to  play.  One  of  them  whistles  indifferently 
the  air  just  played  by  theffer.] 


CYRANO  BE  BEROERAC.  137 

D«  GuiCHE  [taking  the  scarf]. 

I  thank  you.     It  will  now  enabje  me 
To  make  a  siLjnal,— that  I  had  forborne 
To  make— till  now. 

[He  goes  to  the  rampart,  climbs  it,  and  waves  the  sear/ 
thrice.] 

All.     ^Vhat's  that? 

The  Sentinel  [from  the  top  of  the  rampart]. 

See  you  yon  man  down  there,  who  runs?  .  .  . 
De  Guiche  [descending].    'Tis  a  false  Spanish  spy 

Who  is  extremely  useful  to  my  ends. 

The  news  he  carries  to  the  enemy 

Are  those  I  prompt  him  with — so,  in  a  word, 

We  have  an  influence  on  their  decisions! 
Cyrano.     Scoundrel! 
De  Guiche  [carelessly  knotting  on  his  scarf]. 

'Tis  opportune.     What  were  we  saying? 

Ah!  I  have  news  for  you.    'Last  evening 

— To  victual  us— the  Marshal  did  attempt 

A  final  effort:— secretly  he  went 

To  Dourlens  where  the  King's  provisions  be. 

But — to  return  to  camp  more  easily — 

He  took  with  him  a  goodly  force  of  troops. 

Those  who  attack  us  now  would  have  fine  sport! 

Half  of  the  army's  absent  from  the  camp! 
Carbon. 

Ay,  if  the  Spaniards  knew,  'twere  ill  for  us, 

^ut  they  know  nothing  of  it? 
De  Guiche.  Oh!  they  know. 

They  will  attack  us. 
Carbon.     Ah! 


138  CYRANO  DE  BERGERAC. 

De  Guiche.  For  my  false  spy- 

Came  to  warn  me  of  their. attack.     He  said, 
"  1  can  decide  the  point  for  their  assault; 
Where  would  you  have  it?    I  will  tell  them  'tis 
The  least  defended— they'll  attempt  you  there." 
I  jtnswered,  "Good.     Go  out  of  camp,  but  watch 
My  signal.  Choose  the  point  from  whence  it  comes." 

Carbon  [to  Cadets].     Make  ready! 

[All  rise;  sounds  of  swords  and  belts  being  btickled.] 
De  Guiche.     'Twill  be  in  an  hour. 
First  Cadet.     Good!  .  .  . 

[They  all  sit  down  again  and  take  up  their  games. '\ 

De  Guiche  [to  Carbon]. 

Time  must  be  gained.     The  Marshal  will  return. 

Carbon.     How  gain  it? 

De  Guiche.        You  will  all  be  good  enough 
To  let  yourselves  be  killed. 

Cyrano.     Vengeance!  oho! 

De  Guiche. 

I  do  not  say  that,  if  I  loved  you  well, 
I  had  chosen  you  and  yours, — but  as  things  stand, 
— Your  courage  yielding  to  no  corps  the  palm — 
I  serve  my  King,  and  serve  my  grudge  as  well. 

Cyrano. 

Permit  that  I  express  my  gratitude  .  .  . 

De  Guiche. 

I  know  you  love  to  fight  against  fivescore; 
You  will  not  now  complain  of  paltry  odds. 
[He  goes  up  with  Carbon.  ] 

Cyrano  [to  Cadets]. 


CYRANO  BE  BERGERAG.  139 

We  shall  add  to  the  Gascon  coat  of  arms, 

With  its  six  bars  of  blue  and  gold,  one  more— 

The  blood- red  bar  that  was  a-missing  there! 
[De  Guiche  speaks  in  a  low  voice  ivith  Carbon  at  the 
hack.     Orders  are  given.     Preparations  go  for- 
ward.    Cyrano  goes  up  to  Christian,  trho  stands 
with  crossed  arms.l^ 
Cyrano  [putting  his  hand  on  Christian's  shoulder]. 

Christian! 
Christian  [shaking  his  head].     Roxane! 
Cyrano.     Alas! 
Christian.  At  least,  I'd  send 

My  heart's  farewell  to  her  in  a  fair  letter!  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     I  had  suspicion  it  would  be  to-day. 
[He  draws  a  letter  out  of  his  doublet.] 

And  had  already  writ  .  .  . 
Christian.     Show! 
Cyrano.     Will  you  .  .  .  ? 
Christian  [taking  the  letter].     Ay! 

[He  opens  and  reads  it.  ] 

Hold! 
Cyrano.     What? 
Christian.     This  little  spot! 
Cyrano  [taking  the  letter  icith  an  innocent  look]. 

A  spot? 
Christian.     A  tear! 
Cyrano. 

Poets,  at  last, — by  dint  of  counterfeiting— 

Take  counterfeit  for  true— that  is  the  charm! 

This  farewell  letter,— it  was  passing  sad, 

I  wept  myself  in  writing  it! 
Christian.     Wept?  why? 


140  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAG. 

Cyrano. 

Oh!  .  .  .  death  itself  is  hardly  terrible,  .  .  . 
—But,  ne'er  to  see  her  more!   That  is  death's  sting^ 
— For  ...  I  shall  never  .  .  . 

[Christian  looks  at  hiin.] 
We  shall  .  .  .     [Quickly.]     I  mean,  you  .  .  . 
Christian  [snatching  the  letter  fro'm  him]. 
Give  me  that  letter! 

[A  rumor ^  far  off  in  the  camp.  J 

Voice  of  Sentinel.     Who  goes  there?    Hallo? 

[Shots — voices — carriage-hells.] 
Carbon.     What  is  it? 
A  Sentinel  [on  the  rampart].     'Tis  a  carriage! 

[All  rush  to  see.] 
Cries.  In  the  camp? 

It  enters!— It  comes  from  the  enemy! 
— Fire!- No! — The  coachman  cries! — What  does  he 

say? 
— "  On  the  King's  service  !" 

[Every  one  is  on  the  rampart,  staring.     The  hells  come 

nearer.  ] 
De  Guiche.     The  King's  service?    How? 

[All  descend  and  draw  up  in  line.] 
Carbon.     Uncover,  all! 
De  Guiche.   .  The  King's!    Draw  up  in  line! 
Let  him  describe  his  curve  as  it  befits! 
[The  carriage  enters  at  full  speed  covered  with  dust 
and  mud.     The  curtains  are  drawn  close.     Tw9 
lackeys  hehiiid.     It  is  pulled  up  suddenly.] 
Carbon.     Beat  a  salute! 

[A  roll  of  drums.     The  Cadets  unoover.] 


CYRANO  BE  BERGERAC.  141 

De  Guiche.     Lower  the  carriage-steps! 

[  Two  Cadets  rush  forward.     The  door  opens.  ] 
RoxANE  [jumping  down  from  the  carriage]. 

Good-day ! 
[All  are  hoiving  to  the  ground,  hut  at  the  sound  of  a 

woman'' s  voice  every  head  is  instantly  raised.] 

SCENE  V. 
TJie  Same.     Roxane. 

De  Guiche.     On  the  King's  service!    You  ? 

Roxane.     Ay, — King  Love's!     What  other  king? 

Cyrano.     Great  God! 

Christian  [rushing  forward].     Why  have|yoii  come  ?  ^ 

Roxane.     This  siege— 'tis  too  long! 

Christian.     But  why  ?  .  .  . 

Roxane.     I  will  tell  yoM  all! 

Cyrano  [who,  at  the  sound  of  her  voice,  has  stood  still, 
rooted  to  the  ground,  afraid  to  raise  his  eyes]. 
My  God!  dare  I  look  at  her? 

De  Guiche.     You  cannot  remain  here! 

Roxane  [merrily].  But  I  say  yes!  Who  will  push  a 
drum  hither  for  me  ?  [She  seats  herself  07i  the 
drum  they  roll  forward.]  So!  I  thank  you.  [She 
laughs.]  My  carriage  was  fired  at  [proudly]  by 
the  patrol!  Look!  would  j^ou  not  think 'twas  made 
of  a  pumpkin,  like  Cinderella's  chariot  in  the  tale, — 
and  the  footmen  out  of  rats  ?  [Sending  a  kiss  with 
her  lips  to  Qnui^Tik^.]  Good-morrow!  [Examin- 
ing them  all.]  Ton  look  not  merry,  any  of  you! 
Ah!  know  you  that 'tis  a  long  road  to  get  to  Arras? 
[Seeing  Cyrano.]     Cousin,  delighted! 


142  CYRANO  BE  BEBGERAG. 

Cyrano  [coming  up  to  Tier]. 

But  how,  in  Heaven's  name  ?  .  .  . 

RoxANE.  How  found  I  the  way  to  the  army  ?  It  was 
simple  enough,  for  I  had  but  to  pass  on  and  on,  as 
far  as  I  saw  the  country  laid  waste.  Ah!  what 
horrors  were  there!  Had  I  not  seen,  then  I  could 
never  have  believed  it!  Well,  gentlemen,  if  such 
be  the  service  of  your  King,  I  would  fainer  serve 
mine! 

Cyrano.  But  'tis  sheer  madness!  Where  in  the  fiend's 
name  did  you  get  through  ? 

RoxANE.     Where?    Through  the  Spanish  lines. 

First  Cadet.     — For  subtle  craft,  give  me  a  woman! 

i>E  GuiCHE.     But  how  did  you  pass  through  their  lines  ? 

Le  Bret. 

Faith!  that  must  have  been  a  hard  matter!  .  .  . 

RoxANE.  None  too  hard.  I  but  drove  quietly  forward 
in  my  carriage,  and  when  some  hidalgo  of  haughty 
mien  would  have  stayed  me,  lo!  I  showed  at  the 
window  my  sweetest  smile,  and  these  Seiiors  being 
(with  no  disrespect  to  you)  the  most  gallant  gen- 
tlemen in  the  world, — I  passed  on! 

Carbon.  True,  that  smile  is  a  passport.  But  you  must 
have  been  asked  frequently  to  give  an  account  of 
where  you  were  going,  Madame  ? 

RoxANE,  Yes,  frequently.  Then  I  would  answer,  'I 
go  to  see  my  lover. "  At  that  word  the  very  fiercest 
Spaniard  of  them  all  would  gravely  shut  the  car- 
riage-door, and,  with  a  gesture  that  a  king  might 
envy,  make  signal  to  his  men  to  lower  the  muskets 
leveled  at  me;— then,  with  melancholy  but  withal 
very  graceful  dignity— his  beaver  held  to  the  wind 


CYRANO  DE  BERGERAC.  143 

that  the  plumes   might  flutter  bravely,  he  would 
bow  low,  saying  to  me,  "  Pass  on,  Senorital" 

Christian.     But,  Roxane  .  .  . 

RoxANE,  Forgive  me  that  I  said  "  my  lover  !"'  But  be- 
think you,  had  I  said  "my  husband"  not  one  of 
them  had  let  me  pass! 

Christian.     But  ... 

Roxane.     What  ails  you  ? 

De  Gcighe.     You  must  leave  this  place! 

Roxane.     I  ? 

Cyrano    And  that  instantly! 

Le  Bret.     No  time  to  lose. 

Christian.     Indeed,  you  must. 

Roxane.     But  wherefore  must  I  ? 

Christian  [embarrassed].     'Tis  that  .  .  . 

Cyrano  [tJie  same].    —In  three-quarters  of  an  hour  .  .  . 

De  Gl'ICHE  [the  same].     — Or  four  .  .  . 

CATiBO^i  [the  same].     It  were  best  .  .  . 

Le  Bret  [the  same].     You  might  .  .  . 

Roxane.     You  are  going  to  fight  ?— I  stay  here. 

All.    No,  no! 

Roxane.  He  is  my  husband!  [She  throws  h.erself  into 
Christian's  arms.]  They  shall  kill  us  both 
together! 

Christian.     Why  do  you  look  at  me  thus  ? 

Roxane.     I  will  tell  you  why! 

De  Gciche  [in  despair].     Tis  a  post  oft  mortal  danger  I 

Roxane  [turning  round].     Mortal  danger? 

Cyrano. 

Proof  enough,  that  he  has  put  us  here! 

Roxane  [to  De  Guiche]. 


144  CYRANO  BE  BERQERAG. 

De  Guiche.  •  Nay,  on  my  oath  .  .  . 

RoxANE.    I  will  not  go!    I  am  reckless  now,  and  I  shall 

not  stir  from  here! — Besides,  'tis  amusing! 
Cyrano. 

Oh-ho!     So  our  precieuse  is  a  heroine! 
RoxANE.     Monsieur  de  Bergerac,  I  am  your  cousin. 
A  Cadet.     We  will  defend  you  well! 
RoxANE  {more  and  more  excited]. 

I  have  no  fear  of  that,  my  friends! 
Another  \in  ecstasy']. 

The  whole  camp  smells  sweet  of  orris-root! 
RoxANE.     And,  by  good  luck,  I  have  chosen  a  hat  that 

will  suit  well  with  the  battle-field! 
{Looking  at  De  Guiche.  J 
But  were  it  not  wisest   that  the  Count  retire? 

They  may  begin  the  attack. 
De  Guiche.    That  is  not  to  be  brooked!    I  go  to  inspect 

the  cannon,  and  shall  return.     You  have  still  time 

— think  better  of  it!     " 
RoxANE.     Never! 

[De  Guiche  goes  out.'] 

SCENE  VI. 
The  Same,  all  hut  De  Guiche. 

Christian  {entreatingly].     Roxane! 

Roxane.     No! 

First  Cadet  {to  the  other s'].     She  stays! 

All  {hurrying,  hustling  each  other,  tidying  them- 
selves]. A  comb! — Soap! — My  uniform  is  torn! — A 
needle! — A  ribbon!— Lend  your  mirror! — My  cuflEs! 
— Your  curling  iron! — A  razor!  .  .  . 


CYRANO  BE  BERGEEAC.  14^ 

RoxANE  [to  Cyrano,  who  still  pleads  with  her]. 

No!     Naught  shall  make  me  stir  from  this  spot! 
Carbon 

[w/io,  like  tJie  others,  has  been  huckling,  dusting, 
brushing  his  hat,  settling  his  plume,  and  draw- 
ing on  his  cuffs,  advances  to  Roxane,  and  cere- 
moniouslij]. 

It  is  perchance  more  seemly,  since   things  are 
thus,  that  I  present  to  you  some  of  these  gentlemen 
who  are  about  to  have  the  honor  of  dying  before 
your  eyes. 
[Roxane  bows,  and  stands  leaning  07i  Christian's  a7'm, 
■while  Carbon  introduces  the  Cadets  to  her.] 
Baron  de  Peyrescous  de  Colignac! 
The  Cadet   [with  a  low  reverence].     Madame  .  .   . 
Carbon  [continuing].     Baron  de  Casterac  de  Cahuzae, 
— Vidame  de  Malgouyre  Estressac  Lesbas  d'Escara- 
biot.  Chevalier  d'xUitignac — Juzet,  Baron  Hillot  de 
Blagnac — Salechan  de  Castel  Crabioules  .   .  . 
Roxane.     But  how  many  names  have  you  each? 
Baron  Hillot.     Scores! 
Carbon  [to  Roxane]. 

Pray,  open  the  hand  that  holds  your  kerchief. 
Roxane  [opens  her  hand,  and  the  handkerchief  falls]. 
Why? 
[The  whole  company  starts  forward  to  pick  it  up.] 
Carbon  [quickly  raising  it].     My   company   had  no 
flag.     But  now,  by  my  faith,  they  will  have  the 
fairest  in  all  the  camp! 
Rox.\NE  [smiling].     'Tis  somewhat  small. 
Carbon  [tying  the  handkerchief  on  the  staff  of  his 
lance].     But— 'tis  of  lace  1 


146  CYRANO  DE  BERGERAG. 

A  Cadet  [to  the  rest].  I  could  die  happy,  having  seen 
so  sweet  a  face,  if  I  had  something  in  my  stomach 
— were  it  but  a  nut! 

Carbon   [who  has  overheard,  indignantly]. 

Shame  on  you!    What,  talk  of  eating  when  a 
lovely  woman  ... 

RoxANE.  But  your  camp  air  is  keen,  I  myself  am  fam- 
ished; Pasties,  cold  fricassee,  old  wines — there  is 
my  bill  of  fare!    Pray  bring  it  all  here. 

[Consternation,  ] 

A  Cadet.     All  that? 

Another.     But  where  on  earth  find  it? 

Roxane  [quietly].     In  my  carriage. 

All.     How? 

Roxane.     Now  serve  up— carve!    Look  a  little  closer  at 

my  coachman,  gentlemen,  and  you  will  recognize  a 

man  most  welcome.     All  the  sauces  can  be  sent  to 

table  hot,  if  we  will! 
The  Cadets  [rus7ii7ig pellmell  to  the  carriage]. 

'Tis  Kagueneau!     [Acclamations.]     Oh,  oh! 
Roxane  [looking  after  them].     Poor  fellows! 
Cyrano  [kissing  her  hand].     Kind  fairy! 
Ragueneau  [standing  on  the  box  like  a  quack  doctor  at 

a  fair].     Gentlemen!  .  .  . 

[General  delight.] 
The  Cadets.     Bravo!  bravo! 
Ragueneau.     .  .  .  The  Spaniards,  gating  on  a  lady  so 

dainty  fair,  overlooked  the  fare  so  dainty!  .  .  , 
[Applause.] 
Cyrano  [in  a  ichisper  to  Christian]. 
Hark,  Christian! 


CYRANO  BE  BERGERAC.  147 

Ragueneau. 

.  .  .  And,  occupied  with  gallantry,  perceived  not — 
[Zfe  draws  a  plate  from  under  the  seat  and  holds  it  up^ 

— The  galantine  I  .  .  . 
[Applause.    The  yalantine  passes  fro  m  hand  to  hand.  ] 
Cyrano  [still  whispering  to  Christian]. 

Pry  thee,  one  word! 
Ragueneau.     And  Venus  so  attracted  their  eyes  that 

Diana  could  secretly  pass  by  with— [ITe  holds  up  a 

shoulder  of  mutton] — her  fawn! 
[Enthusiasm.     Twenty  hands  are  held  out  to  seize  the 

shoulder  of  mutton.  ] 
Cyrano  [in  a  low  whisper  to  Christian]. 

I  must  speak  to  you! 
Roxane   [to  the  Cadets,  u'?io  come  down,  their  arms 

laden  with  food].     Put  it  on  the  ground! 
[She  lays  all  out  on  the  grass,  aided  by  the  tivo  imper- 
turbable lackeys  who  were  behind  the  carriage.] 
Roxane  [to  Christian,  just  as  Cyrano  is  drawing  him 

apart].     Come,  make  yourself  of  use! 
[Christian  comes  to  help  her.    Cyrano's  uneasiness  in- 
creases.] 
Ragueneau.     Truffled  peacock! 
First  Cadet  [radiant,  coming  down,  cutting  a   big 

slice  of  ham].    By  the  mass!     We  shall  not  brave 

the  last  hazard  without  having  had  a  gullet-full! — 

[quickly  correcting  himself  on  seeing  Roxane] — 

Pardon! — a  Balthazar  feast! 
Ragueneau  [thronging  down  the  carriage  cushions]. 

The  cushions  are  stuffed  with  ortolans! 
[Hubbub.    They  tear  open  and  turn  out  the  contents  of 
the  cushions.     Bicrsts  of  laughter — merriment.] 


148  CYBANO  BE  BERGERAC. 

Ragueneau  [throwing  down  to  the  Cadets  bottles  of  red 
wine].  Flasks  of  rubies! — \and  white  wine]— 
Flasks  of  topaz! 

RoxANE  {throwing  a  folded  tablecloth  at  Cyrano's 
head].  Unfold  me  that  napkin!— Come,  come!  be 
nimble! 

Ragueneau  [moving  a  lantern]. 

Each  of  the  carriage-lamps  is  a  little  larder! 

Cyrano  [in  a  low  voice  to  Christian,  as  they  arrange 
the  cloth  together].  I  must  speak  with  you  ere  you 
speak  to  her. 

Ragueneau.     My  whip-handle  is  an  Aries  sausage! 

RoxANE  [pouring  out  tvi7ie,  Jielping].  Since  we  are  to 
die,  let  the  rest  of  the  army  shift  for  itself.  All 
for  the  Gascons!  And  mark!  if  De  Guiche  comes, 
let  no  one  invite  him! 

[Going  from  one  to  the  other.] 
There!  there!     You  have  time  enough!     Do  not 
eat  too  fast!— Drink  a  little.— Why  are  you  crying? 

First  Cadet.     It  is  all  so  good!  .  .  . 

RoxANE.  Tut!— Red  or  white  ?— Some  bread  for  Mon- 
sieur de  Carbon!— a  knife!  Pass  your  plate! — a 
little  of  the  crust?  Some  more?  Let  me  help 
you! — Some  champagne  ?— A  wing ? 

Cyrano  [who  follows  her,  his  arms  laden  with  dishes, 
helping  her  to  wait  on  everybody]. 
How  I  worship  her! 

RoxANE  [going  up  to  Christian].     What  will  you  ? 

Christian.     Nothing. 

RoxANE.  Nay,  nay,  take  this  biscuit,  steeped  in  mus- 
cat; come!  .  .  .  but  two  drops! 

Christian  [trying  to  detain  her].  Oh!  tell  me  why  you 
came? 


CYRANO  DE  BERGERAC.  149 

EOXANE.     Wait ;  my  first  duty  is  to  these  poor  fellows. 

Hush  I— In  a  few  minutes  .  .  . 
Le  Bret  [wJio  had  (jo)ie  up  to  pass  a  loaf  on  the  end  of 
a  lance  to  the  sentry  on  the  rampart]. 
De  Gniohe! 
Cyrano.     Quick!  hide   flasks,  plates,  pie-dishes,  game- 
baskets!     Hurry! — Let  us  all  look  unconscious! 

[To  Ragueneau.] 
Up  on  your  seat!— Is  everything  covered  up? 
{In  an  instant  all  has  been  pushed  iiito  the  tents,  or 
hidden  under  doublets,  cloaks,  and  beavers.     De 
Guiche  e7ite7's  hurriedly, — staps  suddenly,  sniff- 
ing the  air.     Silence.] 

SCENE   VII. 
The  Same.     De  Guiche. 

De  Guiche.  It  smells  good  here. 
A  Cadet  [humming].  Lo!  lo-lo! 
De  Guiche  [looking  ai  him]. 

AVhat  is  the  matter?— You  are  very  red! 
The  Cadet.     The  matter  ?— Nothing!— 'Tis  my  blood— 

boiling  at  the  thought  of  the  coming  battle! 
Another.     Poum,  poum— poum  .  .  . 
De  Guiche  [turning  round].     What's  that? 
The  Cadet  [.slightly  drunk]. 

Nothing!  .  .  .     'Tis  a  song!— a  little!  .  .  . 
De  Guiche.     You  are  merry,  my  friend! 
The  Cadet.     The  approach  of  danger  is  intoxicating! 
De  Guiche.  [calling  Carbon  de  Castel-Jaloux,  to  give 

him  an  order]. 

Captain!     I  .  .  . 


150  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAG. 

{He  stops  short  on  seeing  7dm.] 
Plague  take  me  I  but  you  look  bravely,  too! 
Carbon  [crimson  in  the  face,  hiding  a  bottle  behind  his 
back,  tvith  an  evasive  movement]. 
Obi  .   . 
De  Guiche.     I  have  one  cannon  left,  and  have  had  it 
carried    there — [He   points    behind    the   scenes] — 
in  that  corner:  .  .   .  Your  men  can  use  it  in  case 
of  need. 
A  Cadet  [reeling  slightly].     Charming  attention! 
Another  [with  a  gracious  smile].     Kind  solicitude! 
De  Guiche.     How  ?  they  are  all  gone  crazy ! 
[Bryly.] 
As  you  are   not   used   to  cannon,  beware   of  the 
recoil. 
First  Cadet.     Pooh! 

De  Guiche  [furious,  going  up  to  him].     But  .  .  . 
The  Cadet.     Gascon  cannons  never  recoil! 
De  Guiche  [taking  him  by  the  arm  aeid  shaking  Jiifn]. 

You  are  tipsy! — but  what  with  ? 
The  Cadet  [grandiloquently].     — With  the    smell  of 

powder! 
De  Guiche  [shrugging  his  shoulders  and  pushing  him 
away,  t?ien  going  quickly  to  Roxane].    [take? 
.  .  .  Briefly,  Madame,  what  decision  do  you  deign  to 
PvOXANE.     I  stay  here. 
De  Guiche.    You  must  fly! 
FwOXANE.     No!  I  will  stay. 
De  Guiche.     Since  things  are  tlius,  give  me  a  musket, 

one  of  you ! 
Carbon.     Wherefore? 
De  Guiche.     Because  I  too— mean  to  remain. 


CYRANO  UE  BERGERAC.  151 

Cyrano.     At  last!     This  is  true  valor,  Sir! 

First  Cadet.     Then  you  are  a  Gascon   after  all,  spite 

of  your  lace  collar? 
RoxANE.     AThat  is  all  this  ? 

De  Guiche.     I  leave  no  woman  in  peril.  t 

Second  Cadet   [to  the  first].     Hark  you!    Think  you 

not  we  might  give  him  something  to  eat  ? 
[All  the  viands  reappear  as  if  by  magie.] 
De  Guiche  [whose  eyes  sparkle].     Victuals! 
The   Ihiiid  Cadet.     Yes,  you'll  see  them  coming  from 

under  every  coat! 
De  Guiche  [controlling  himself,  haughtily].     Do   you 

think  I  will  eat  your  leavings? 
Cyrano  [saluting  him].     You  make  progress. 
De  Guiche  [proudly,  with  alight  touch  of  accent  on 

the  word  ''■breaking''''].     I  will   fight  without  hr-r- 

eaking  my  fast! 
First  Cadet   [wild  with  delight].     Br-r-r-eakiugl    He 

has  got  the  accent! 
'Die.QviCYiE  [laughing].     I? 
The  Cadet.     Tis  a  Gascon! 

[All  begin  to  dance.] 
Carbon  de  Castel-Jaloux  [who  had  disappeared  be- 
hind the  rampart,  reappearing  on  the  ridge]. 

I  have  drawn  my  pikemen  up  in  line.     They  are  a 

resolute  troop. 
[He  points  to  a  row  of  pikes,  the  tops  of  tvhich  are 

seen  over  the  ridge.] 
De  Guiche   [bowing  to  Roxane].     Will  you  accept  my 

hand  and  accompany  me  while  I  review  them  ? 

[She  takes  it,  and  they  go  up  toward  the  rampart.    All 

uncover  and  follow  them.] 


152  CYRANO  BE  BERQERAG, 

Ohbi^tun  [going  to  Cyrano,  eagerly]. 

Tell  me  quickly! 
[As  RoxANE  appears  on  the  ridge,  the  tops  of  the 
lances  disappear,  lowered  for  the  salute^  and  a 
shout  is  raised.     She  bows.] 
The  Pikemen  [outside].     Vivat ! 
Christian.     What  is  this  secret  ? 
Cyrano.     If  Roxane  should  .  .  . 
Christian.     Should  ?  .   .  . 
Cyrano.     Speak  of  the  letters  ?  .  .  . 
Christian.     Yes!    I  know!  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     Do  not  spoil  all  by  seeming  surprised  .  . 
Christian.    At  what  ? 
Cyrano.     I  must  explain  to  you!  ...     Oh!  'tis   no 

great  matter, — I  but  thought  of  it  to-day  on  seeing 

her.  You  have  .  .  . 
Christian.  Tell  quickly! 
Cyrano.    You  have    .  .  .  written  to  her  oftener  than 

you  think  '.  .  . 
Christian.     How  so  ? 

Cyrano.     Thus,  'faith!    I  had  taken  it  in  hand  to  ex- 
press your  flame  for  you!  ...     At  times  I  wrote 

without  saying,  "  I  am  writing!" 
Christian.     Ah ! 
Cyrano.     'Tisisimple  enough! 
Chriotian.     But  how  did  you  contrive,  since  we  have 

been  cut  off,  thus  ...  to  ...  ? 
Cyrano. 

...    Oh!    before  dawn  ...   I  was  able  to  g»t 
through  .  .  . 
Christian  [folding  his  a7'ms].     That  was  simple,  too? 

And  how  oft,  pray  yoii,  have  I  written? .  .  .    Twice 

in  the  week?  .  .  .     Three  times?  .  .  .     Four?  .  .  . 


CYRANO  DE  BEROERAg,  153 

Cyrano.    More  often  still. 

Christian.     What!    Every  day? 

Cyrano.     Yes,  every  day, — twice. 

Christian  [violently].     And  that  became  so  mad  a  joy 

for  you,  that  you  braved  death  .  .  . 
Cyrano  [seeing  Roxane  returning]. 

Hush!     Not  before  her! 

[He  goes  hurriedly  into  his  tent.] 

SCENE  VIII. 

Roxane,  Christian.     In  the  distance  Cadets  coining 
and  going.     Carbon  and  De  Guiche  give  orders, 

Roxane  [running  up  to  Christian]. 
Ah,  Christian  at  last!  .    .  . 

Christian  [taking  her  hands].     Now  tell  me  why — 
Why,  by  these  fearful  paths  so  perilous — 
Across  these  ranks  of  ribald  soldiery, 
You  have  come? 

Roxane.     Love,  your  letters  brought  me  here! 

Christian.     What  say  you? 

Roxane.  Tis  your  fault  if  I  ran  risksl 

Your  letters  turned  my  head!    Ah!  all  this  mouth, 
How  many! — and  the  last  one  ever  bettered 
The  one  that  went  before! 

Christian.  What!— for  a  few 

Inconsequent  love-letters! 

Roxane.  Hold  your  peace! 

Ah!  you  cannot  conceive  it!     Ever  since 
That  night,  when,  in  a  voice  all  new  to  me, 
Under  my  window  you  revoaled  your  soul- 
Ah!  ever  since  I  have  adoi-cd  vou!     Now 


154  CYRANO  BE  BEROEHAG.  . 

Your  letters  all  this  whole  month  loug! — meseemed 
As  if  I  heard  that  voice  so  tender,  true, 
Sheltering,  close!     Thy  fault,  I  say!     It  drew  me, 
The  voice  o'  th'  night!     Oh!  wise  Penelope 
Would  n'er  have  stayed  to  broider  on  her  hearth- 
stone. 
If  her  Ulysses  could  have  writ  such  letters! 
But  would  have  cast  away  her  silken  bobbins, 
And  fled  to  join  him,  mad  for  love  as  Heleu! 
Christian.     But  .  .  . 

EOXANE. 

I  read,  read  again — grew  faint  for  love; 
I  was  thine  utterly.     Each  separate  page 
Was  like  a  fluttering  flower-petal,  loosed 
From  your  own  soul,  and  wafted  thus  to  mine. 
Imprinted  in  each  burning  word  was  love 
Sincere,  all-powerful  .  .  . 

Christian.  A  love  sincere! 

Can  that  be  felt,  Koxane? 

RoxANE.     Ay,  that  it  can! 

Christian.     You  come  .  .  .  ? 

RoxANE.         O  Christian,  my  true  lord,  I  come — 
(Were  I  to  throw  myself,  here,  at  your  knees, 
You  would  raise  me — but  'tis  my  soul  I  lay 
At  your  feet — you  can  raise  it  nevermore!) 
— I  come  to  crave  your  pardon.     (Ay,  'tis  time 
To  sue  for  pardon,  now  that  death  may  come!) 
For  the  insult  done  to  you  when,  frivolous. 
At  finst  I  loved  you  only  for  your  face! 

Christian  [horror-stricken].     Roxane! 

RoxANE.         And  later,  love— less  frivolous  — 

Like  a  bird  that  spreads  its  wings,  but  cannot  fly— 


CYRANO  DE  BERGERAC.  155 

Arrested  by  your  beauty,  by  your  soul 
Drawn  close— I  loved  for  both  at  once! 
Christian.     And  now? 

ROXANE. 

Ah  I  you  yourself  have  triumphed  o'er  yourself, 

And  now,  I  love  you  only  for  your  soul! 
Christian  [stepping  backward].     Roxane! 
RoxANE.     Be  happy.     To  be  loved  for  beauty— 

A  poor  disguise  that  time  so  soon  wears  thread- 
bare— 

Must  be  to  noble  souls — to  souls  aspiring — 

A  torture.     Your  dear  thoughts  have  now  effaced 

That  beauty  that  so  won  me  at  the  outset. 

Now  I  see  clearer — and  I  no  more  see  it! 
Christian.  Oh!  .  .  . 

Roxane.     You  are  doubtful  of  such  victory? 
Christian  [pained].     Roxane! 
Roxane.     I  see  you  cannot  yet  believe  it. 

Such  love  .  .  .   ? 
Christian.     I  do  not  ask  such  love  as  that! 

I  would  be  loved  more  simply;  for  .  .   . 
Roxane.  For  that 

Which  they  have  all  in  turns  loved  in  thee? — Shame! 

Oh!  be  loved  henceforth  in  a  better  way! 
Christian.     No!  the  first  love  was  best! 
Roxane.  Ah!  how  you  err! 

'Tis  now  that  I  love  best— love  well!     'Tis  that 

Which  is  thy  true  self,  see!— that  I  adore! 

AYere  your  brilliance  dimmed  .  .    . 
Christian.     Hush! 
Roxane.  T  should  love  still! 

Ay,  if  your  beauty  should  to-day  depart  .  .  . 


156  CYRANO  BE  BEROERAC. 

Christian.     Say  not  so! 

KoxANE.     Ay,  I  say  it! 

Christian.     Ugly?    How? 

RoxANE.     Ugly!    I  swear  I'd  love  you  still! 

Christian.     My  God ! 

RoxANE,     Are  you  content  at  last? 

Christian  [in  a  choked  voice].    Ay!  .  .  . 

RoxANE.     What  is  wrong? 

Christian  [gently  pushing  her  away]. 

Nothing.  ...    I  have  two  words  to  say:— one 
second  .  .  . 

ROXANE.     But?  .   .  . 

Christian  [pointing  to  the  Cadets]. 

Those  poor  fellows,  shortly  doomed  to  death, — 
My  love  deprives  them  of  the  sight  of  you: 
Go, — speak  to  them,  smile  on  them  ere  they  die! 

RoxANE  [deeply  affected^.     Dear  Christian!  .  .  . 

[She  goes  up  to  the  Cadets,  who  respectfully  crowd 
round  her.] 


SCENE  IX. 

Christian,  Cyrano.      At  hack  Roxane  talking  to  Car- 
bon and  some  Cadets. 

Christian  [calling  toward  Cyrano's  tent]. 

Cyrano! 
Cyrano  [reappeaHng^  fully  armed]. 

What?     Why  so  pale? 
Christian.     She  does  not  love  me! 
Cyrano.     What? 


CYRANO  BE  BERGERAU.  157 

Christian.     'Tis  you  she  loves! 

Cyrano.     No! 

Christian.     — For  she  loves  me  only  for  my  soul! 

Cyrano.    Truly? 

Christian.     Yes!    Thus — you  see,  that  soul  is  you,  .  .  . 

Therefore,  'tis  you  she  loves! — And  you — love  her! 
Cyrano.     I? 

Christian.     Oh,  I  know  it! 
Cyrano.     Ay,  t'is  true! 
Christian.  You  love 

To  madness! 
Cyrano.     Ay,  and  worse i 
Christian.     Then  tell  her  so! 
Cyrano.     No! 
Christian.     And  why  not? 
Cyrano.     Look  at  my  face!— be  answered! 
Christian.     She'd  love  me — were  I  ugly. 
Cyrano.     Said  she  so? 
Christian.     Ay,  in  those  words! 
Oyrano.  I'm  glad  she  told  you  that! 

But  pooh! — believe  it  not!     I  am  well  pleased 

She  thought  to  tell  you.     Take  it  not  for  truth. 

Never  grow  ugly:— she'd  reproach  me  then! 
Christian.     That  I  intend  discovering! 
Cyrano.     No!  I  beg! 
Christian. 

Ay!  she  shall  choose  between  us! — Tell  her  all! 
Cyrano. 

No!  no!     I  will  not  have  it!     Spare  me  this! 
Christian. 

Because  my  face  is  haply  fair,  shall  I 

Destroy  your  happiness?    'Twere  too  unjust! 


158  CYRANO  BE  BERGERAG. 

Cyrano. 

And  I, — because  by  Nature's  freak  I  have 

The  gift  to  say — all  that  perchance  you  feel, 

Shall  I  be  fatal  to  your  happiness  ? 
Christian.     Tell  all ! 

Cyrano.     It  is  ill  done  to  tempt  me  thus! 
Christian.     Too  long  I've  borne^about  within  myself 

A  rival  to  myself— I'll  make  an  end! 
Cyrano.     Christian! 
Christian.     Our  union,  without  witness — secret — 

Clandestine,  can  be  easily  dissolved 

If  we  survive. 
Cyrano.     My  God!— he  still  persists! 
Christian.     I  will  be  loved  myself— or  not  at  all! 

— I'll  go  see  what  they  do— there,  at  the  end 

Of  the  post:  speak  to  her,  and  then  let  her  choose 

One  of  us  two! 
Cyrano.     It  will  be  you! 
Christian.     Pray  Cod! 

[He  calls.  ]      Roxane  I 

Cyrano.     No!  no! 

Roxane  [coming  up  quickly].     What? 

Christian.  Cyrano  has  things 

Important  for  your  ear.  .  .  . 

[She  hastens  to  Cyrano.     Christian  goes  out.] 


SCENE    X. 

Roxane,  Cyrano.     Then  Le  Bret,  Carbon  de  Castel- 

Jaloux,  the  Cadets,  Ragueneau,  De  Guiche,  etc. 
Roxane.     Important,  how? 


CYRANO  BE  BERGERAG.  159 

Cyrano  [in  despair.     To  Roxane]. 

He's  gone:     'Tis   naught!— Oh,  you  know  how  lie 
sees 

Importance  in  a  trifle! 
Roxane  [ivarmhj].     Did  he  doubt 

Of  what  I  said  ?— Ah,  yes,  I  saw  be  doubted! 
Cyrano  [taking  her  hand]. 

But  are  you  sure  you  told  him  all  the  trnth? 
Roxane.     Yes,  I  wouli  love  him  were  he  .  .  . 

[She  hesitates.  ] 
Cyrano.  Does  that  word 

Embarrass  you  before  my  face,  Roxane  ? 
Roxane.     I  .  .  . 
Cyrano  [smiling  sadly]. 

'Twill  not  hurt  me!    Say  it!    If  he  were 

Ugly!  .  .  . 
Roxane.     Yes,  ugly! 

[Muske    report  outside.] 

Hark!  I  hear  a  shot! 
Cyrano  [ardently].     Hideous! 
Roxane.     Hideous!  yes! 
Cyrano.     Disfigured. 
Roxane.     Ay! 
Cyrano.    Grotesque? 
Roxane.     He  could  not  be  grotesque  to  me! 
Cyrano.     You'd  love  the  same  ?  .  .  . 
Roxane.     The  same— nay,  even  more! 
Cyrano  [losing  command  over  himself— aside]. 

My  God!  it's  true,  perchance,  love  waits  me  therel 
To  Roxane. 

I  .  .  .  Roxane  .  .  .  listen  .  .  . 
Le  Bret  [entering  hurriedly — to  Cyrano]. 


160  CYRANO  DE  BERGERAC. 

Cyrano! 
Cyrano  \turnmg  round].     What? 
Le  Bret.     Hush! 

{He  whispers  something  to  him.] 
Cyrano  [letting  go  Koxane's  hand  and  exclaiming]. 

Ah,  God! 
RoxANE.     What  is  it  ? 

Cyrano  [to  himself— stunned].    All  is  over,  now. 
[Renewed  reports.] 

ROXANE. 

What  is  the  matter?    Hark!  another  shot! 
[She  goes  up  to  look  outside.] 
Cyrano.     It  is  too  late,  now  I  can  never  tell! 
RoxANE  [trying  to  rush  out]. 

What  has  chanced  ? 
Cyrano,  [rushing  to  stop  her].     Nothing! 

[Some  Cadets  i^nter,  trying  to  hide  something  they 
are  carrying^  and  close  round  it  to  prevent  Rox- 
ane  approaching.] 
RoxANE.     And  those  men  ? 
Cyrano  [drawing  her  away].     Let  be! — 

ROXANE. 

What  were  you  just  about  to  say  before  .  .  .  ? 
Cyrano. 

What  was  I  saying  ?    Nothing  now,  I  swear! 

[Solemnly.] 
I  swear  that  Christian's  soul,  his  nature,  were  .  c » 

[Hastily  correcting  himself.] 
Nay,  that  they  are,  the  noblest,  greatest  .  .  • 
RoxiNE.     Were  ? 

[With  a  loud  scream.] 
Oh! 


CTRANO  DE  BERGERAC.  161 

[She  rushes  up,  ptcshing  every  one  aside.] 

Cyrano.     All  is  over  now! 

RoxANE    [seeing    Christian    lying    oii    the    ground, 

wrapped  in  his  cloak].     O  Christian! 
Le  Bret  [to  Cyrano  J. 

Struck  by  the  first  shot  of  the  enemy ! 
[RoxANE  flings  herself  down  by  Christian.     Fresh 
reports   of  cannon— clash    of  arms — clamor — 
heating  of  drums.  ] 
Carbon  [with  sword  in  the  air]. 

They  come!  your  muskets. 
[Followed  by  the  Cadets,  he  passes  to  the  other  side  of 

the  ramparts. 
Roxane.     Christian! 
The  Voice  of  Carbon  [from  the  other  side]. 

Ho!  make  haste! 
Roxane.     Christian! 
Carbon.     Form  line  ! 
Roxane.     Christian! 
Carbon.     Handle  your  match  ! 
[Ragueneau  rushes  up,  bringing  water  in  a  helmet.] 
Christian  [//2  a  dying  voice].     Roxane! 
Cyrano 

[quickly,  ivhispering  into  Christian's  ear,  while  Rox- 
ane distractedly  tears  apiece  of  linen  from  his 
breast,  which  she  dips  into  the  water,  trying  to 
staunch  the  bleeding]. 
I  told  her  all.     She  loves  you  still. 

[Christian  closes  his  eyes,] 
Roxane.     How,  my  sweet  love? 
Carbon.     Draw  ramrods  f 


162  CYRANO  DE  BEmEBAC. 

RoxANE  [to  Cyrano].     He  is  not  dead? 
Carbon.     Open  your  charges  with  your  teeth  / 
RoxANE.  His  cheek 

Grows  cold  against  my  own! 
Carbon.     Beady  !  Present ! 
RoxANE   [seeing  a  letter  in  Christian's  doublet]. 

A  letter!  .  .  .     'Tis  for  me! 

[She  opens  it.  ] 
Cyrano  [aside\     My  letter! 
Carbon.     Fire ! 

[Musket  reports — shouts — noise  of  battle.  ] 

Cyrano  [ti-ying  to  disengage  his  hand,  which  Roxanp 

071  her  knees  is  holding]. 

But,  Roxane,  hark,  they  fight! 
RoxANE  [detaining  him].     Stay  yet  awhile. 

For  he  Is  dead.     You  knew  him,  you  alone. 
[Weeping  quietly.] 

Ah,  was  not  his  a  beauteous  soul,  a  soul 

Wondrous! 
Cyrano  [standing  up — bareheaded]. 

Ay,  Roxane. 
Roxane.     An  inspired  poet? 
Cyrano.     Ay,  Roxane. 
Roxane.     And  a  mind  sublime? 
Cyrano.     Oh,  yes! 
Roxane. 

A  heart  too  deep  for  common  minds  to  plumb, 

A  spirit  subtle,  charming? 
Cyrano  [fii-mly].     Ay,  Roxane. 
Boxane  [  flinging  herself  on  the  dead  body]. 

Dead,  my  love! 


CYRANO  BE  BEROERAG.  163 

Cyrano  [aside — drawing  his  sword]. 

Ay,  and  let  me  die  to-day, 

Since,  all  unconscious,  she  mourns  me — in  himi 

[Sounds  of  trumpets  in  the  distance.] 

De  Guiche  [appearing  on  the  ramparts — bareheaded — 

u'itli   a  wound  on  his  forehead — in  a   voice  of 

thunder]. 

It  is  the  signal!    Trumpet  flourishes! 

The  French  bring  the  provisions  into  camp! 

Hold  but  the  place  awhile! 
RoxANE.  See,  there  is  blood 

Upon  the  letter — tears! 
A  Voice  [outside — shouting].     Surrender! 
Voice  of  Cadets.     No! 
Raguenead   [standing  on    the  top  of  his    carriage 

ivatches  the  battle  over  the  edge  of  the  ramparts]. 

The  danger's  ever  greater! 
Cyrano  [to  De  GvicuE—pointi}ig  to  Roxane]. 

I  will  charge!     Take  her  away! 
Roxane   [kissing  the  letter — in  a    half-extinguished 

voice].     O  God!  his  tears!  his  blood!  .  .  . 
Ragueneau  [jumping  down  from   the  carnage  and 

rushing  toward  her].     She's  swooned  away  I 
De  Guiche  [on  the  rampart — to    the    Cadets — with 

fury].     Stand  fast! 
A  Voice  [outside].     Lay  down  your  arms! 
The  Cadets.     No! 
Cyrano  [to  De  Guiche]. 

Now  that  you  have  proved  your  valor,  Sir, 
[Pointing  to  Roxane.] 

Fly,  and  save  her! 
De  Guiche  [rushing  to  Roxane,  and  carrying  herawoiQ 


164  CYRANO  BE  BEROERAG. 

in  his  arms].     So  be  it!     Gain  but  time, 
The  victory's  ours! 
Cyrano.     Good. 
[Calling  out  to  Roxane,  whom  De  Guiche,  aided  by 
Eagceneau,  is  hearing  away  in  a  fainting  con- 
dition.] 

Tarewell,  Roxane! 
[  Tuimdt.    Shouts.    Cadets  reappear,  wounded,  fall- 
ing on  the  scene.    Cyrano,  rushing  to  the  battle, 
is  stopped  by  Carbon  de  Castel-Jaloux,  who  is 
streaming  ivith  blood.] 
Carbon. 

We  are  breaking!    I  am  wounded— wounded  twice! 
Cyrano  [shouting  to  the  Gascons]. 

Gascons  !    Ho,  Gascons!    Never  turn  your  backs! 

[To  Carbon  ivhom  he  is  supporting.] 
Have  no  fear!     I  have  two  deaths  to  avenge; 
My  friend  who's  slain;— and  my  dead  happiness! 
^They  come  doivn — Cyrano  brandishing  the  lance  to 
which  is  attached  Roxane's  handkerchief] 
Float  there!  laced  kerchief  broidered  with  her  name! 
[He  sticks  it  in  the  ground  and  shouts  to  the  Cadets.] 
Fall  on  them,  Gascons  !    Crush  them  f 
[To  the  FiFER.] 

Fifer,  play! 
[The  fife  plays.  The  wounded  try  to  rise.  Some 
Cadets,  falling  one  over  the  other  down  the  slope, 
group  themselves  round  Cyrano  and  the  little 
fi,ag.  The  carriage  is  crowded  with  men  inside 
and  outside,  and,  bristling  ivith  arquebuses,  is 
turned  into  a  fortress.] 
A  Cadet   [appearing  on  the  crest,  beaten  backward^ 


CYRANO  DE  BERGERAC.  166 

but    still  fighting^    cries]    They're  climbing  the 
redoubt!  [and  falls  dead.] 
Cyrano.     Let  us  salute  them! 

[The  rampart  is  covered  instantly  by  a  formidable 
ro2v  of  e7ie?nies.   ITie  standards  of  the  Imperial- 
ists are  raised.  ] 
Fire! 

[General  discharge.] 

A  Cry  in  the  Enemy's  Ranks.    Fire! 

[A  steady  answering  volley.     The  Cadets  fall  on  all 
sides.  ] 

A  Spanish  Officer  [tincovering]. 

Who  are  these  men  who  rush  on  death? 
Cyrano  [reciting,  erect,  amid  a  storm  of  bullets]. 

The  bold  Cadets  of  Gascony, 

Of  Carbon  of  Castel-Jaloux! 

Brawling,  swaggering  boastfully, 
[He  rushes  forward,  followed  by  a  few  survivors.] 

The  bold  Cadets  .  .  . 

[His  voice  is  drowned  in  the  battle.] 
Curtain. 


166  CYBANO  BE  BEEGERAG. 


ACT  V. 
Cyrano's  Gazette. 

Fifteen  years  later,  in  1655.  Park  of  the  Sisters  of  the 
Holy  Cross  in  Paris.  Magnificent  trees.  On  the 
left  the  house:  broad  steps  on  to  which  open 
several  doors.  An  enormous  plane  tree  in  the 
middle  of  the  stage,  standing  alone.  On  the  right, 
among  big  boxwood  trees,  a  semicircular  stone 
bench. 

The  whole  background  of  the  stage  is  crossed  by  an 
alley  of  chestnut  trees  leading  on  the  right  hand  to 
the  door  of  a  chapel  seen  through  the  branches. 
Through  the  double  row  of  trees  of  this  alley  are 
seen  lawns,  other  alleys,  clusters  of  trees,  winding 
of  the  park,  the  sky. 

The  chapel  opens  by  a  little  side-door  on  to  a  colonnade 
which  is  wreathed  with  autumn  leaves,  and  is  lost 
to  view  a  little  farther  on  in  the  right-hand  fore- 
ground behind  the  boxwood. 

It  is  autumn.  All  the  foliage  is  red  against  the  fresh 
green  of  the  lawns.  The  gre«n  boxwood  and  yews 
stand  out  dark. 

Under  each  tree  a  patch  of  yellow  leaves. 

The  stage  is  strewn  with  dead  leaves,  which  rustle 
under  foot  in  the  alleys,  and  half  cover  the  steps 
and  benches. 


CYRANO  DK  BKRGklRAC.     .  IC; 

Between  the  benches  on  the  right  hand  and  the  tvee  a 

large  embroidery  irame,  in  front  of  which  a  little 

chair  has  been  set. 
Baskets  full  of  skeins  and  balls  of  wool.     A  tapestry 

begun. 
A.t  the  rising  of  the  curtain  nuns  are  walking  to  and 

fro   in   the   park;  some  are  seated  on  tb^  bench 

around  an  older  Sister. 
rhe  leaves  are  falling. 


SCENE  I. 

Mother  Marguerite,  Sister  Martha,  Sister  Claire, 
other  Sisters. 

Bister  Martha  \to  Mother  Marguerite]. 

Sister  Claire  glanced   in  the  mirror,  once — nay, 
twice, 

To  see  if  her  coif  suited. 
Mother  Marguerite  {to  Sister  Claire]. 

'Tis  not  well. 
Sister  Claire.     But  I  saw  Sister  Martha  take  a  plum 

Out  of  the  tart 
Mother  Marguerite  \to  Sister  Martha]. 

That  was  ill  done,  my  sister. 
Sister  Claire.     A  little  glance! 
Sister  Martha.     And  such  a  little  plum! 
Mother  Marguerite. 

I  shall  tell  this  to  Monsieur  Cyrano. 
Sister  Claire.     Nay,  prithee  do  not!— he  will  mock! 
Sister  Martha.     He'll  say  we  nuns  are  vain! 
Sister  Claire.     And  greedy! 


168  CYRANO  DE  BERGERAG. 

Mother  Marguerite  [smiling].     Ay,  and  kind! 

Sister  Claire. 

Is  it  not  true,  pray,  Mother  Marguerite, 
That  he  has  come,  each  week,  on  Saturday 
For  ten  years,  to  the  convent? 

Mother  Marguerite.  Ay!  and  more! 

Ever  since — fourteen  years  ago — the  day 
His  cousin  brought  here,  'midst  our  woolen  coifs, 
The  worldly  mourning  of  her  widow's  veil, 
Like  a  blackbird's  wing  among  the  convent  doves! 

Sister  Martha. 

He  only  has  the  skill  to  turn  her  mind 

From  grief — un softened  yet  by  Time — unhealed! 

All  the  Sisters. 

He  is  so  droll!— It's  cheerful  when  he  comes! — 
He  teases  us! — But  we  all  like  him  well! — 
We  make  him  pasties  of  angelica! 

Sister  Martha.     But  he  is  not  a  faithful  Catholic! 

Sister  Claire.     We  will  convert  him! 

The  Sisters.     Yes!  yes! 

Mother  Marguerite.  I  forbid, 

My  daughters,  you  attempt  that  subject.     Nay, 
Weary  him  not — he  might  less  oft  come  here! 

Sister  Martha.     But  .   .  .  God  .  .  . 

Mother  Marguerite. 

Nay,  never  fear!    God  knows  him  well! 

Sister  Martha. 

But— every  Saturday,  when  he  arrives, 

He  tells  me,  "Sister,  I  eat  meat  on  Friday!" 

Mother  Marguerite. 

Ah!  says  he  so?    Well,  the  la?^t  time  he  came, 
Food  had  not  passed  his  lips  for  two  whole  dayil 


CYRANO  BE  BERQBRAQ.  169 

Sister  Martha.     Mother! 

Mother  Marguerite.     He's  poor. 

Sister  Martha.     Who  told  you  so,  dear  Mother!? 

Mother  Marguerite.     Monsieur  le  Bret. 

Sister  Martha.     None  help  him? 

Mother  Marguerite.     He  permits  not, 

\In  an  alley  at  the  hack  Roxane  appears,  dressed  in 
black,  with  a  ividow's  coif  and  veil.   De  Guiche, 
imposing -looking  and  visibly  aged,  walks  by  her 
side.     They  saunter  slowly.    Mother  Marguer- 
ite rises]. 
'Tistime  we  go  in;  Madame  Madeline 
AValks  in  the  garden  with  a  visitor. 
SisT^iR  Martha  [to  Sister  Claire,  in  a  low  voice]. 

The  Marshal  of  Grammont? 
Sister  Claire  [looking  at  him].     'Tis  he,  I  think. 
Sister  Martha. 

'Tis  many  months  now  since  he  came  to  see  her. 
The  Sisters. 

He  is  so  busy :  -The  Court, — the  camp!  .  .  . 
Sister  Claire.     The  world! 

[They  go  out.     De  Gciche  and  Roxane  come  forward 
in  silence,  and  stop  close  to  the  embroidery  frame.'] 


SCENE  II. 
Roxane;  the  Duke  De  Grammont,  formerly  Count  D£ 

Guiche.     TJien  Le  Bret  and  Raguenkau. 
The  Duke. 

And  you  stay  here  still— ever  vainly  fair, 
Ever  in  weeds? 


1 70  C  TRA  NO  I)  E  B  ERG  ERA  C. 

EoxANE.     Ever. 

The  Dukb.     Still  faithful? 

KOXANE.     Still. 

The  Duke  [after  apaiise].     Am  I  forgiven? 

KoxANE.     Ay,  since  I  am  here. 

\  Another  pause.] 

The  Duke.     His  was  a  soul,  you  say?  .  .  . 

BoxANE.     Ah! — when  you  knew  him! 

The  Duke. 

Ah,  may  be!  .  .  .  I,  perchance,  too  little  knew  him 
.  .  .  And  his  last  letter,  ever  next  your  heart? 

ROXANE. 

Hung  from  this  chain,  a  gentle  scapulary. 

The  Duke.     And,  dead,  you  love  him  still  ? 

RoxANE.     At  times, — meseems 

He  is  but  partly  dead, — our  hearts  still  speak, 
As  if  his  love,  still  living,  wrapped  me  round! 

The  Duke  [after  another  pause]. 
Cyrano  comes  to  see  you  ? 

Roxane.  Often,  ay. 

Dear,  kind  old  friend!    We  call  him  my  "Gazette." 
He  never  fails  to  come:  beneath  this  tree 
They  place  his  chair,  if  it  be  fine:— I  wait, 
I  broider; — the  clock  strikes; — at  the  last  stroke 
I  hear,  — for  now  I  never  turn  to  look- 
Too  sure  to  hear  his  cane  tap  down  the  steps; 
He  seats  himself: — with  gentle  raillery 
IJe  mocks  my  tapestry  that's  never  done; 
He  tells  me  all  the  gossip  of  the  week  . 
[Le  Bret  appears  oh  the  steps.^ 
Why,  h«re's  Lc  Bret! 

[Ju'S.'BiSiKi:  descends.] 


CYRANO  BE  BEROERAG.  1  7 1 

How  goes  it  with  our  friend  ? 

Lr  Bret.     111!— very  ill. 

The  Duke.     IIow? 

RoxANE  [to  the  DuKEJ.     He  exaggerates! 

Le  Bret.     All  that  I  prophesied:  desertion,  want!  .  .  . 
His  letters  now  make  him  fresh  enemiesl — 
Attacking  the  sham  nobles,  sham  devout, 
Sham  brave, — the  thieving  authors, — all  the  world! 

ROXANK. 

Ah!  but  his  sword  still  holds  them  all  in  cheek; 

!None  get  the  better  of  him. 
Thb  Duke  [shaking  his  head]. 

Time  will  show! 
Le  Bret. 

Ah,  but  I  fear  for  him — not  man's  attack, — 

Solitude — hunger— cold  December  days, 

That  wolf-like  steal  into  his  chamber  drear: — 

Lo!  the  assassins  that  I  fear  for  him! 

Each  day  he  tightens  by  one  hole  his  belt: 

Thnf  I  oor  nose— tinted  like  old  ivory: 

He  has  retained  one  shabby  suit  of  serge. 
Thb  Duke. 

Ay,  there  is  one  who  has  no  prize  of  Fortune! — 

Yet  is  not  to  be  pitied! 
Le  Bret  [with  a  hitter  smile]. 

My  Lord  Marshal!  .  .  . 
The  Dcke. 

Pity  him  not!    He  has  lived  out  his  vows, 

Free  in  his  thoughts,  as  in  his  actions  free! 
Le  Bret  [in  the  same  tone].     My  Lord!  .  .  . 
The  Duke  [haughtily]. 

True?  I  have  all,  and  he  has  nauEcht;  .  .  . 


172  CYRANO  DE  BERQERAC. 

Yet  I  were  proud  to  take  his  hand! 
^Bowing  to  Koxane.] 
Adieu! 

RoxANE.     I  go  with  you. 

\^T7ie  Duke  hows  to  Le  Bret,  and  goes  with  Roxane 
toward  the  steps.] 

The  Duke  [pausing,  while  she  goes  up]. 
Ay,  true,— I  envy  him. 
Look  you,  when  life  is  brimful  of  success 
— Though  the  past  hold  no  action  foul — one  feels 
A  thousand  self-disgusts,  of  which  the  sum 
Is  not  remorse,  but  a  dim,  vague  unrest; 
And,  as  one  mounts  the  steps  of  worldly  fame, 
The  Dukes'  furred  mantles  trail  within  their  folds 
A  sound  of  dead  illusions,  vain  regrets, 
A  rustle— scarce  a  whisper, — like  as  when, 
Mounting  the  terrace  steps,  your  mourning  robe 
Sweeps  in  its  train  the  dying  autumn  leaves. 

HoxANE  [ironically].     You  are  pensive  ? 

The  Ddke.     True!  I  am! 

[As  he  is  going  out,  suddenly.] 
Monsieur  Le  Bret! 

.[2o  Roxane.] 
A  word,  with  your  permission  ? 

[He  goes  to  Le  Bret,  and  in  a  low  voice.] 
True,  that  none 

Dare  to  attack  your  friend; — but  many  hate  him; 
Yesterday,  at  the  Queen's  card-play,  'twas  said, 
"That  Cyrano  may  die— by  accident!" 
Let  him  stay  in — be  prudent! 

Le  Bret  [raising  his  nrms  to  heaven]. 
Prudent!     He!  .  .    . 


GYRANO  BE  BERGERAC.  i:;j 

He's  coming  here.     Til  warn  him — but!  .  .  . 
RoxANE  ivlio  lias  stayed  on  the  steps,  to  a  Sister  who 
comes  toward  Jie?']. 

What  is  it? 
The  Sister.     Rageneau  would  see  you,  Madame. 
HoxANE.  Let  him  come. 

[To  the  Duke  and  Le  Bret.] 

He  comes  to  tell  his  troubles.     Having  been 

An  author  (save  the  mark!) — poor  fellow, — uar 

By  turns  he's  singer  .  .  . 
Le  Bret.     Bathing-man  .  .  . 
RoxANE.     Then  actor  .  .  . 
Le  Bret.     Beadle  .  .  . 
RoxANE.     TTig-maker  .  ,  . 
Le  Bret.     Teacher  of  the  lute  .  .  . 
RoxANE.     What  will  he  be  to-day,  by  chance  ? 
Ragueneau  [entering  hurriedly].     Ah!  Madame! 
[He  sees  Le  Bret.  ] 

Ah!  you  here,  Sir! 
RoxANE  [smiling].     Tell  all  your  miseries] 

To  him;  I  will  return  anon. 
Ragueneau.     But,  Madame  .  .  . 
[RoxANE  goes  out  luith  the  Duke.    He  goes  toward  Le 
Bret.] 

SCENE  in. 
Le  Bret,  Ragueneau. 
Ragueneau. 

Since  you  are  here,  'tis  best  she  should  not  know! 
I  was  going  to  your  friend  just  now — was  but 
A  few  steps  from  the  house,  when  I  saw  him 


174  CYRANO  BE  BEBGERAG. 

Gro  out.     I  hurried  to  him.     Saw  him  turn  , 
The  eoruer  .  .  .  suddenly,  from  out  a  window 
Where  he  was  passing— was  it  chance  ? .  .  may  be! 
A  lackey  let  fall  a  large  piece  of  wood. 

Le  Bret.     Cowards!    O  Cyrano! 

Eagueneau.     I  ran— I  saw  .  .  , 

Le  Bret.     'Tis  hideous! 

Rageneau.     Saw  our  poet,  Sir— our  friend — 

Struck  to  the  ground, — a  large  wound  ia  his  head! 

Le  Bret.     He's  dead  ? 

Ragueneau.     No — but — I  bore  him  to  his  room  .  .  . 
Ah!  his  room!    What  a  thing  to  see! — that  garret! 

Le  Bret.     He  suffers  ? 

Ragueneau.     No;  his  consciousness  has  flown. 

Le  Bret.     Saw  you  a  doctor  ? 

Ragueneau.     One  was  kind—he  came. 

Le  Bret.     My  poor  Cyrano! — We  must  not  tell  this 
To  Roxane  suddenly.— What  said  this  leech  ?— 

Ragueneau. 

Said, — what,  I  know  not — fever,  meningitis! — 
Ah!  could  you  see  him — all  his  head  bound  up! — 
But  let  us  haste! — There's  no  one  by  his  bed! — 
And  if  he  try  to  rise,  Sir,  he  might  die! 

Ragueneau  [dragging  him  toward  the  right] . 

Come!    Through  the  chapel!    'Tis  the  quickest  way! 

Roxane   [appearing  on  the  steps,  and  seeing  Le  Bret 
§0  away  by  the  colonnade  leading  to  the  chapel  doer]. 
Monsieur  Le  Bret! 

[Le  Beet  and  Ragueneau  disappear  without  answer- 
ing]. 
Le  Bret  goes — when  I  call! 
Tis  some  new  trouble  of  good  Ragueneau's. 
[She  descends  the  steps.] 


CYRANO  BE  BERGERAG.  175 

SCENE  IV. 

RoxANE  alone.     Two  Sisters,  for  a  moment. 

RoxANE.     Ah!  What  a  beauty  in  September's  close! 
My  sorrow's  eased.     April's  joy  dazzled  it, 
But  autumn  wins  it  with  her  dying  calm. 
{^She  seats  herself  at  the   embroidery  frame.     Two 
Sisters  come  out  of  the  house,  and  bring  a  lar§e 
armehair  under  the  tr»e.  ] 
There  comes  the  famous  armchair  where  he  sits, 
Dear  faithful  friend! 
Sister  Martha.     It  is  the  parlor's  best! 
RoxANE.     Thanks,  sister.     [The  Sisters  go.} 
He'll  be  here  now. 
[She  seats  herself .     A  clock  strikes. '[ 
The  hour  strikes. 
— My  silks? — Why,  now,  the  hour's  struck!    How 

strange 
To  be  behind  his  time,  at  last,  to-day! 
Perhaps  the  portress— where's  my   thimble?  .  .  . 

Here! 
— Is  preaching  to  hira. 

[A  pause.'] 
Yes,  she  must  be  preaebing! 
Surely  he  must  come  soon! — Ah,  a  dead  leaf! — 

[She  brushes  off  the  leaffro-m  her  work.] 
Nothing,  besides,  could — scissors?— In  my  bag! 
— Could  hinder  him  .  .  . 
A  BiSTER  [coming  to  the  steps].    Monsieur  de  Bergerac 


17€  CYRANO  BE  BERQERAC. 

SCENE  V. 

BoxANE  [without  turning  round]. 
What  was  I  saying?  .  .  . 
[She  embroiders.     Cyrano,  very  pale,  his  hat  pulled 
down  over  his  eyes,  appears.    The  Sister  who  had 
announced  him  retires.     He  descends  the  steps 
slowly,  with  a  visible  difficulty  in  holding  him- 
self upright,  bearing  heavily  on  his  cane.     Kox- 
ANE  still  works  at  her  taf ' 
lime  has  dimmed  the  tint 
How  harmonize  them  now* 

{To  Cyrano,  with  playful  reproaeh.] 
For  the  first  time 
Late!— For  the  first  time,  all  these  fourteen  yearsl 
Cyrano. 

[who  has  succeeded  in  reaching  the  chair,  and  has 
seated  himself— in  a  lively  voice,  which  is  in 
great  contrast  with  his  pale  face.] 
Ay!    It  is  villainous!    I  raged— was  stayed  .  .  . 
Roxane.     By?  .  .  . 

Cyrano.     By  a  bold,  unwelcome  yisitor. 
Roxane  [absently,  working].     Some  creditor? 
Cyrano.     Ay,  cousin, — the  last  creditor 

Who  has  a  debt  to  claim  from  me. 
Roxane.     And  you  have  paid  it? 
C?YRAN0.     No,  not  yet!     I  put  it  off; 

—Said,  "  Cry  you  mercy;  this  is  Saturday, 
When  I  have  got  a  standing  rendezvous 
That  naught  defers.     Call  in  an  hour's  tim©  !'* 
Kdxane  [carelessly]. 

Oh,  well,  a  creditor  can  always  wait! 
I  shall  not  let  you  go  ere  twilight  falle^. 


CYRANO  DE  BEROERAC.  1?7 

Cyrano.     Haply,  perforce,  I  quit  you  ere  it  falls! 
[He  shuts  his  eyes,  and  is  silent  for  a  moment.     Sis- 
ter Martha  crosses  the  park  from  the  chapel  to 
the  flight  of  steps.     Roxane,  seeing  her,  signs  tQ 
her  to  approach.^ 
Roxane  [to  Cyrano]. 

How  now?    You  have  not  teased  the  Sister? 
Cyrano  [hastily  opening  his  eyes].     True! 
[In  a  comically  loud  voice.] 
Sister!  come  here! 

[The  Sister  glides  up  to  him.] 
Ha!  ha!     What?    Those  bright  eyes 
Bent  ever  on  the' ground? 
Sister  Martha  [who  makes  a  movement  of  astonish- 
ment on  seeing  his  face].        Oh! 
Cyrano  [in  a  ivhisper,  pointing  to  Roxane]. 
Hush!  'tis  naught! — 

[Loudly y  in  a  blustering  voice.  ] 
I  broke  fast  yesterday! 
Sister  Martha  [aside].  I  know,  I  know! 

That's  how  he  is  so  pale!     Come  presently 
To  the  refectory,  I'll  make  you  drink 
A  famous  bowl  of  soup  .  .  .     You'll  come? 
Cyrano.     Ay,  ay! 
Sister  Martha. 

There,  see!    You  are  more  reasonable  to-day! 
Roxane  [who  hears  ihem  ivhispering]. 

The  Sister  would  convert  you? 
Sister  Martha.    Nay,  not  I! 
Cyrano. 

Hold!  but  it's  true!    You  preach  to  me  no  more, 
You,  once  so  glib  with  holy  words!    I  am 
Astonished!  .  .  . 


178  CYRANO  DE  BERGERAG. 

[With  'burlesque  fury .\ 
Stay,  I  will  surprise  you  too! 

Hark!    I  permit  you  .  .  . 
\He  pretends  to  he  seeking  for  something  to  tease  her 
with^  and  to  have  found  it.  ] 

...  It  is  somethinf]^  new! — 

To— pray  for  me,  to-night,  at  chapel-time! 
EoxANE.     Oh!  oh! 
Cybano  [laughing]. 

Go»d  Sister  Martha  is  struck  dumb! 
SiSTEK  Martha  [gently]. 

I  did  not  wait  your  leave  to  pray  for  you. 
[^lie  goes  out.] 
Cyrano  [turning  to  Roxane,  ivho  is  still  bending  oner 

her  work]. 

That  tapestry!     Beshrew  me  if  my  eyes 

Will  ever  see  it  finished! 
Roxane.  I  was  sure 

To  hear  that  well-known  jest! 

[A  light  breeze  causes  the  leaves  to  fall.'] 
Cyrano.  The  autumn  leaves! 

EoxANE  [lifting  her  head,  and  looking  dovm  tTie  dis* 

tant  alley]. 

Soft  golQcii  brown,  like  a  Venetian's  hair. 

— See  how  they  fall! 
Cyrano.  Ay,  see  how  brave  they  fall, 

In  their  last  journey  downward  from  the  bough, 

To  rot  within  the  clay;  yet,  lovely  still, 

Hiding  the  horror  of  the  last  decay. 

With  all  the  wayward  grace  of  careless  flight! 
Roxane.     What,  melancholy— you  ? 
Cyrano  [eoUecting  himself].     Nay,  nay,  Roxane! 


CYRANO  BE  BERG  ERA  C.  1  "^ 

ROXANE. 

Then  let  the  dead  leaves  fall  the  way  they  will  .  .  . 

And  chat.     What,  have  you  nothing  new  to  tell, 

My  "  Court  Gazette?" 
Cyrano,     Listen. 
RoxANE.     Ah! 
Cyrano  [growing  whiter  and  whiter].     Saturday 

The  nineteenth:  having  eaten  to  excess 

Of  pear-conserve,  the  King  felt  feverish; 

The  lancet  quelled  this  treasonable  revolt, 

And  the  august  pulse  beats  at  normal  pace. 

At  the  Queen's  ball  on  Sunday  thirty  score 

Of  best  white  waxen  tapers  were  consumed. 

Our  troops,  they  say,  have  chased  the  Austriaas. 

Four  sorcerers  were  hanged.     The  little  dog 

Of  Madame  d'Athis  took  a  dose  .  .   . 
Roxane.  I  bid 

You  hold  your  tongue.  Monsieur  de  Bergerac! 
Cyrano. 

Monday — not  much — Claire  changed  protector. 
Roxane.     Oh ! 
Cyrano  \u)hose  face  changes  more  and  more], 

Tuesday,  the  Court  repaired  to  Fontainebleau. 

Wednesday,    the     Montglat    s^id     to     Comte    de 
Fiesque  .   .   . 

No!  Thursday — Maneini,  Queen  of  Franv5e!  (almost/) 

Friday,    the    Montglat    to   Count    Fiesque    said — 
"Yes!" 

And  Saturday  the  twenty-sixth  .  .  . 
[Me  closes  his  eyes.    Ni3  head  falls  forwavd.    SilenGe.] 
BoxANE  [surprised  at  his  voice  ceasing,  turns  round, 
looks  at  him,  and  rising,  terrif^]. 


180  CYRANO  J)E  BERG EB AG. 

H€  swoons! 

[She  runs  toward  him  crying.] 
Cyrano! 
Cyrano  [opening  his  eyes,  in  an  unconcernea  voice]. 
What  is  this  ? 
[He  sees  Roxane  bending  over  him,   and,  hastily 
pressing  his  hat  on  his  head,  and  shrinking  hack 
in  his  chair.  ] 
Nay,  on  my  word 
'Tis  nothing!     Let  me  be! 
BOXANE.      But  .    .    . 
0YRANO.     That  old  wound 

Of  Arras,  sometimes,    as  you  know  .  .  , 
EoxANE.     Dear  friend! 
Cyrano.     'Tis  nothing,  'twill  pass  soon; 
[He  smiles  with  an  effort.  ] 
See! — it  has  passed! 

ROXANE. 

Each  of  us  has  his  wound;  ay,  I  have  mine, — 
Never  healed  up— not  healed  yet,  my  old  wound! 

[She puts  her  hand  on  her  breast.] 
'Tis  here,  beneath  this  letter  brown  with  age, 
All  stained  with  tear-drops,  and  still  stained  with 
blood. 

[  Twilight  begins  to  fall.  ] 
Cyrano.     His  letter!    Ah!  you  promised  me  one  day 

That  I  should  read  it. 
RoxANE.     What  would  you  ?— His  letter  ? 
Cyrano.     Yes,  I  would  fain, — to-day  .  .  . 
RoxANE  [giving  the  bag  hung  at  her  neck]. 
See!  here  it  is! 


CYRANO  DE  BERGERAC.  y^ 

Cyrano  [taking  it].     Have  I  your  leave  to  open  ? 

RoxANE.     Open— read! 

[She  comts  hack  to  her  tapestry  frame  ^  folds  it  up,  sorts 

her  wools.  ] 
Cyrano  [reading]. 

"  Roxane,  adieu!     I  soon  must  die! 

This  very  night,  beloved;  and  I 

Feel  my  soul  heavy  with  love  untold. 

I  die!     No  more,  as  in  days  of  old, 

My  loving,  longing  eyes  will  feast 

On  your  least  gesture — ay,  the  least! 

I  mind  me  the  way  you  touch  your  cheek 

With  your  finger,  softly,  as  you  speak! 

Ah  me!     I  know  that  gesture  well! 

My  heart  cries  out! — I  cry  '  Farewell!'  " 
Roxane. 

But  how  you  read  that  letter!     One  would  thi&k  . . 
Cyrano  [continuing  to  read]. 

"  My  life,  my  love,  my  jewel,  my  sweet, 

My  heart  has  been  yours  in  every  beat!" 
[The  shades  of  evening  fall  imperceptibly.^ 
Roxane. 

You  read  in  such  a  voice— so  strange — and  yet — 

It  is  not  the  first  time  I  hear  that  voice!" 

[She  comes  nearer  very  softly^  without  his  perceiving 
it,  passes  behind  his  chair,  and,  noiselessly  lean- 
ing over  him,  looks  at  the  letter'.     The  darknms 
deepens.  ] 
Cyrano. 

"  Herp,  dying,  and  there,  in  the  land  on  high, 
I  am  he  who  loved,  who  loves  you, — I  ..." 


183  CYRANO  DE  BERGERAG. 

RoxANE  Ijputting  her  Jmnd  on  his  shoulder]. 
How  can  you  read?    It  is  too  dark  to  see! 

[He  starts,  turns,  sees  her  close  to  him.  Suddenly 
alarmed,  he  holds  his  head  down.  Tfien  in  the 
dusk,  which  has  tiow  completely  enfolded  them^ 
she  says,  very  slowly,  with  clasped  hands.] 

And,  fourteen  years  long,  he  has  played  this  part 

Of  the  kind   old  friend   who  comes  to  laugh  aiMl 
chat! 
Cyrano.     Roxane! 
RoxANE.     'Twas  you! 
Cyrano.     No,  never;  Roxane,  no! 
Roxane. 

I  should  have  guessed,  each  time  he  said  my  name! 
Cyrano.     No;  it  was  not  I! 
Roxane.     It  was  you! 
Cyrano.     I  swear! 
Roxane.     I  see  through  all   the  generous  counterfeit — 

The  letters— you! 
Cyrano.     No. 
Roxane.     The  sweet,  mad  love- words! 

You! 
Cyrano.     No! 

Roxane.     The  voice  that  thrilled  the  night — you,  ycm! 
Cyrano.     I  swear  you  err. 
Roxane.     The  soul— it  was  your  soul! 
Cyrano.     I  loved  you  not. 
Roxane.     You  loved  me  not  ? 
Cyrano.     'Twas  he! 
Roxane.     You  loved  me! 


CYRANO  BE  BEROEUAC.  183 

Cyrano.     No! 

RoiANE.     See!  how  you  falter  now! 

Cyrano.     No,  my  sweet  love,  I  never  loved  you! 

RoxANE.  Ah! 

Things  dead,  long  dead,  see!  how  they  rise  again! 

— Why,  why  keep  silence  all  these  fourteen  years, 

When,  on  this  letter,  which  ho  never  wrote, 

The  tears  were  your  tears  ? 
Cyrano  [fiolding  out  the  letter  to  her]. 

The  bloodstains  were  his. 

ROIANE. 

Why,  then,  that  noble  silence, — kept  so  long — 
Broken  to-day  for  the  first  time — why  ? 
Cyrano.     Why?  .  .  . 

[Le  Bret  and  Ragueneau  enter  rjinning.] 


SCENE  VI. 

TTie  Same.     Le  Bret  and  Ragueneau. 

Le  Bret.     What  madness!     Here  ?    I  knew  it  well! 
Cyrano  [smiling  and  sitting  up].     What  now  ? 
Le  Bret. 

He  has  brought  his  death  by  coming,  Madame. 
Roxane.  Grod! 

Ah,  then!  that  faintness  of  a  moment  sine©  .  .  .  ? 
Cyrano.    Why,  true!    It  interrupted  the  "Gazette!" 

.  .  .  Saturday,  twenty-sixth,  at  dinner-time, 

Assassination  of  De  Bergerac. 

[Ke  takes  off  his  hat ;  they  see  his  head  bandaged.] 


184  GTRANO  DE  BEBQERAG. 

BOXANE, 

What  says  he?     Cyrano! — His  head  all  bound  I 

Ah,  what  has  chanced  ?    How  ?— Who  ?  .   .  . 
Cyrano.  "  To  be  struck  down, 

Pierced  by  a  sword  i'   the  heart,  from  a  hero's 
hand!" 

That  I  had  dreamed.     O  mockery  of  Fate! 

— Killed,  I!  of  all  men — in  an  ambuscade! 

Struck  from  behind,  and  by  a  lackey's  hand! 

'Tis  very  well.     I  am  foiled,  foiled  in  all, 

Even  in  my  death. 
Ragueneau.     Ah,  Monsieur!  .  .  . 
Cyrano.     [Holding  oat  ?iis  hand  to  hini].    Raguoneau, 

Weep  not  so  bitterly  !  .  .  .     What  do  you  now, 

Old  comrade  ? 
RAGUENEAU^[a??izc?  Ms  teai's].  .    .    .    Trim  the  lights  for 

Moliere's  stage. 
Cyrano.  Moliere! 
Ragueneau.     Yes;  but  I  shall  leave  to-morrow. 

I  cannot  bear  it! — Yesterday  they  played 

"  Scapin  " — I  sav?  he'd  thieved  a  scene  from  you! 
Le  Bret.     What!  a  whole  scene  ? 
Ragueneau.     Oh,  yes,  indeed,  Monsieur, 

The  famous  one,  "Que  Diable  allait-il  fair© ?" 
Le  Bret.     Moliere  has  stoleh  that  ? 
Cyrano.     Tut!     He  did  well!  .  .  . 
[To  Ragueneau.] 

How  went  the  scene?    It  told— I  think  it  told ? 
Ragueneau  [sohh^ng^^.     Ah!  how  they  laughed! 
Cyrano.     Look  you,  it  was  my  life 

To  be  the  prompter  every  one  forgets! 


CYRANO  BE  BEROERAC.  l^ 

[To  ROXANE.] 

That   night   when  'neath   your   window   Christiaa 

spoke 
— Under  your  balcony,  you  remember?    Well! 
There  was  the  allegory  of  my  whole  life: 
I,  in  the  shadow,  at  the  ladder's  foot, 
While  others  lightly  mount  to  Love  and^  Fame! 
Just!  very  just!     Here  on  the  threshold  drear 
Of  death,  I  pay  my  tribute  with  the  rest, 
To  Moliere's  genius, — Christian's  fair  face! 

[^The  chapel-hell  chimes.     The  Nuns  are  seen  passing 
down  the  alley  at  the  hack^  to  say  their  office.^ 

Let  them  go  pray,  go  pray,  when  the  bell  rings! 
RoxANE  {I'ising  and  calling].     Sister!    Sister! 

Cyrano  [holding  her  fast]. 

Call  no  one.     Leave  me  not; 

When  you  come  back,  I  should  be  gone  for  aye. 

[Tlie  Nuns  liave  all  entered  the  chapel.     The  organ 

sounds.] 

I  was  somewhat  fain  for  music — hark!  'tis  come. 
RoxANE.     Live,  for  1  love  you! 
Cyrano.     No!     In  fairy  tales 

When  to  the  ill-starred  Prince  the  lady  says 

"I  love  you  I"  all  his  ugliness  fades  fast — 

But  I  remain  the  same,  up  to  the  last! 
RoxANE.     I  have  marred  your  life — I,  I! 
Cyrano.     You  blessed  my  life! 

Never  on  me  had  rested  woman's  love. 

My  mother  even  could  not  find  me  fair; 

I  had  no  sister;  and,  wlien  grown  a  man, 


18G  CYRANO  DE  BERGERAG. 

I  feared  the  mistress  who  would  mock  at  me. 

But  I  have  had  your  friendship — grace  to  yon 

A  woman's  charm  has  passed  across  my  path. 

Le  Bret  {pointing  to  the  moon,  which  is  seen  between 

the  ti'ees]. 

Your  other  lady-love  is  come. 
Cteano  [smiling\     I  see. 

RoxANE.     I  loved  but  once,  yet  twice  I  lose  my  love! 
Cyrano. 

Hark  you,  Le  Bret!  I  soon  shall  reach  the  moon. 

To-night,  alone,  with  no  projectile's  aid!  .  . 
Le  Bret.     What  are  you  saying  ? 
Cyrano.     1  tell  you,  it  is  there, 

There,  that  they  send  me  for  my  Paradise, 

There  I  shall  find  at  last  the  souls  I  love. 

In  exile, — Galileo — Socrates! 
Le  Bret  [rehelliously]. 

No,  no!     It  is  too  clumsy,  too  unjust! 

So  great  a  heart!     So  great  a  poet!    Die 

Like  this  ?  what,  die  ...  ? 
Cyrano.     Hark  to  Le  Bret,  who  scolds! 
Le  Bret  [weeping].     Dear  friend  .  .  , 
Cyrano  [starting  up,  his  eyes  wild]. 

What  ho!  Cadets  of  Gascony! 

The  elemental  mass — ah  yes!  the  hie  .  .  » 
Le  Bret.     His  science  still— he  raves! 
Cyrano.     Copernicus 
Said  ... 
Roxane.     Oh! 
Cyrano. 

Mais  que  diable  allait-il  faire, 

Mais  que  diable  allait,il  faire  dans  cette  galere  ? 


iJYILiXO  DE  IJEHGERAC.  187 

Philosoplicr,  metaphysician, 
Rhymer,  brawler,  and  mu-sician, 
Famed  for  liis  lunar  expedition. 
And  the  unnumbered  duels  he  fought, — 
And  lover  also, — by  interposition! — 
Here  lies  Ilercule  Savinien 
Do  Cyrano  de  Bergerac, 
Who  was  everything,  yet  was  naught. 
I  cry  you  pardon,  but  I  may  not  stay; 
See,  the  moon-ray  that  comes  to  call  me  bencel 

\^He  has -fallen  hack  in  his  cliair :  the  sobs  o/Roxane 
recall  him  to  reality  ;  he  looks  long  at  her,  and, 
touch in(/  her  veil.] 
I  would  not  bid  you  mourn  less  faithfully 
That  good,  brave  Christian:  I  would  only  ask 
That  when  my  body  shall  be  cold  in  clay 
You  wear  those  sable  mourning  weeds  for  two, 
And  mourn  awhile  for  me,  in  mourning  him. 
RoXANE.     I  swear  it  yon!  .   .   . 
Cyrano  [shicering  violentli/,  then  suddenly  rising]. 
Not  there!  what,  seated?— no! 

[  They  S2)ring  toward  him.  ] 
Let  no  one  hold  me  up — 

[He  props  himself  against  the  tree.] 
Only  the  tree! 

[Silence.] 
It  comes.     E'en  now  my  feet  have  turned  to  stone, 
My  hands  are  gloved  with  lead! 
[He  stands  erect.] 
But  since  death  comes, 
I  meet  him  still  afoot, 


188  CYRANO  BE  BEROERAG. 

[He  draws  Ms  sword.'^ 
And  sword  in  hand! 
Le  Bret.     Cyrano! 
RoxANE  [half  fainting].     Cyrano! 

[All  sliriiik  hack  in  terror.'] 
Cyrano.     Why,  I  well  believe 

He  dares  to  mock  my  nose  ?    Ho!  insolent! 

[He  raises  his  sivord.] 
What  say  you  ?     It  is  useless  ?     Ay,  I  know! 
But  who  fights  ever  hoping  for  success  ? 
I  fought  for  lost  cause,  and  for  fruitless  quest! 
You  there,  who  are  you!— You  are  thousands!    Ah! 
I  know  you  now,  old  enemies  of  mine! 
Falsehood! 

[He  strikes  in  the  air  with  his  sword.] 
Have  at  you!     Ha!  and  Compromise! 
Prejudice,  Treachery!  .  .  . 

[He  strikes.  ] 
Surrender,  I  ? 

Parley?        No,  never!    You  too.  Folly— you ? 
I  know  that  you  will  lay  me  low  at  last; 
Let  be!    Yet  I  fall  fighting,  fighting  still! 
[He  makes  passes  in  tJie  air,  and  stops,  breathless.] 
You  strip  from  me  the  laurel  and  the  rose! 
Take  all!    Despite  you  there  is  yet  one  thing 
I  hold  against  you  all,  and  when,  to-night, 
I  enter  Christ's  fair  courts,  and,  lowly  bowed, 
Sweep  with  doffed  casque  the   heavens'  threshold 

blue, 
One  thing  is  left,  that,  void  of  stain  or  smutch, 


CYRANO  DE  BERQERAC.  189 

I  bear  away  despite  you. 
{He  Kprinys  forward^    his  suord  raised;    it  falls 
from  Ids  hand;  he  staggers^  falls  hack  into  tfie 
arms  of  Le  Bret  and  Raguenau.  ] 
PwOXANE  [bending  over  him  and  kissing  his  forehead]. 

Tis?  ... 
Cyrano  [opening  his  eyes,  recognizing  her,  and  smil- 
ing] .    My  ya  naeh  e. 

Curtain, 


'F^iDE  4C0CK-H0R5L  TO  BaNBURY  CROSS, 

To  SF.E  A  HNE  LADY  UPOKAWmTL  HORSi:; 

Rings  on  her  fingcrs.and  bells  on  HtRTOts. 

SUl  SHALL  HAVE  MUSIC  WHLKhVtK  SHE  GOES!' 


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